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To sing the 50 United States
you have to use your brain.

Massachusetts.
Minnesota.
Missouri and Montana.
M-i-s-s-Mississippi.
Maryland!
Michigan and Maine!

In this never-before-seen picture book featuring Dr. Seuss's signature rhyming style, readers will delight in naming the 50 states alongside the beloved Cat in the Hat! Funny, engaging, and educational, this book is ideal for Seuss fans and collectors of all ages. Sing the 50 United States! features original, previously unpublished text by Dr. Seuss and brand-new illustrations inspired by his sketches.

At the end of the book you'll find a Publisher's Note about how this project came to be, including archival images of the original text and sketches by Ted Geisel-a.k.a. Dr. Seuss!

Remove the book's jacket to reveal a complete map of the United States on the back, perfect for readers to test their own state-naming skills.","featuredImage",{"_148":5896,"_144":5897,"_3989":5899,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},"priceRange",{"_5902":5906},"availableForSale","compareAtPriceRange",{"_5902":5903,"_5904":5905},"variants",{"_5873":5874},{"_5838":5848},"ean",{"_5838":5798},"parentFormat",{"_5838":5797},"generalProperties","metafields",[5819,5820,-5,5821,5822,-5,5823,5824,5825,5826,5827,-5,5828,5829,-5,5830,5831,5832],{"_148":5870,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":5872},{"_148":5867,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5868,"_5838":5869},{"_148":5865,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":5864,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":5861,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":5858,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":5860},{"_148":5855,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":5857},{"_148":5852,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":5854},{"_148":5849,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":5847,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":5848},{"_148":5846,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":5798},{"_148":5842,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":5839,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":5841},{"_148":5833,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":3798},"gid://shopify/Metafield/86703154594033","namespace","reviews","key","rating_count","value","gid://shopify/Metafield/87300934369521","rating","{\"scale_min\":\"1.0\",\"scale_max\":\"5.0\",\"value\":\"4.6\"}","gid://shopify/Metafield/63575346118897","bnb","isEligibleForFreeShipping","true","gid://shopify/Metafield/63575342612721","gid://shopify/Metafield/71039126601969","[\"BADGE - $3 OFF (p7877)\",\"B|$3 Off|#DD2A27|#701F15 (p7847)\",\"Dr. Seuss Central>Shop Now (p482)\",\"Dr. Seuss (p3722)\",\"Frankenkitty Only $9.99 With Purchase of Any Kids' Book (p1237)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Summer Reading (p5957)\",\"Top Kids' Books for Your 2026 Summer Reading List (p7189)\",\"BADGE - 15% OFF (p7872)\",\"Celebrate the United States Semiquincentennial (p10659)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/63575346020593","skuType","book","gid://shopify/Metafield/63575343956209","workId","1148595673","gid://shopify/Metafield/63575347167473","seoKeywords","Sing-the-50-United-States/Dr-Seuss","gid://shopify/Metafield/63588126589169","commentary","[{\"id\":\"117326740T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Let the Cat in the Hat take you on a rhyming adventure through all 50 states in this brand-new Dr. Seuss book. It’s true — an original manuscript was discovered. What wonderful luck!

\"},{\"id\":\"117133954T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Dr. Seuss, also known as Theodor Seuss Geisel, is one of the most beloved children's book authors of all time. From The Cat in the Hat to Oh, the Places You'll Go!, his iconic characters, stories, and art style have had a lasting influence on generations of children and adults. The books he wrote and illustrated under the name Dr. Seuss (along with others he wrote but did not illustrate, under the pseudonyms Theo. LeSieg and Rosetta Stone) have been published in fifty languages. Hundreds of millions of copies have found their way into homes and hearts around the world. Dr. Seuss's long list of awards includes Caldecott Honors, the Pulitzer Prize, and eight honorary doctorates. Works based on his original stories have won three Oscars, three Emmys, three Grammys, and a Peabody.

Tom Brannon is a popular illustrator who has worked on many different book series, including Sesame Street, Muppet Babies, and Playhouse Disney.

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Random House Children’s Books is a division of Penguin Random House.

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OVER 18 MILLION GRUFFALO BOOKS SOLD WORLDWIDE

Gruffalo Granny is visiting the Gruffalo family in this brand-new Gruffalo story!

The Gruffalo said to his daughter one day,
\"Your Gruffalo Granny is coming to stay.\"

Julia Donaldson's lively rhymes and Axel Scheffler's quirky art bring the same delightful charm and humor that make The Gruffalo and The Gruffalo's Child timeless favorites. Audiences new and old will embrace the return of this beloved character . . . and the introduction of a new Gruffalo family member!

Look for more books in the series:

The Gruffalo
The Gruffalo's Child",{"_148":5962,"_144":5963,"_3989":5964,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":5967},{"_5902":5965,"_5904":5966},{"_5873":5952},{"_5838":5939},{"_5838":5909},{"_5838":5797},[5920,-5,-5,5921,5922,-5,5923,5924,5925,5926,5927,-5,5928,5929,-5,5930,5931,5932],{"_148":5950,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":5951},{"_148":5949,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":5948,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":5947,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":5945,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":5946},{"_148":5943,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":5944},{"_148":5941,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":5942},{"_148":5940,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":5938,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":5939},{"_148":5937,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":5909},{"_148":5936,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":5934,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":5935},{"_148":5933,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":3788},"gid://shopify/Metafield/94141018570993","gid://shopify/Metafield/94141018603761","{\"scale_min\":\"1.0\",\"scale_max\":\"5.0\",\"value\":\"5.0\"}","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697876795633","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697872011505","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697878040817","[\"Picture Books (p4127)\",\"Barnes & Noble @ School (p310)\",\"BADGE - 10% OFF (p7873)\",\"Frankenkitty Only $9.99 With Purchase of Any Kids' Book (p1237)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"B|Bestseller|#007C6C (p7858)\",\"BADGE - $2 OFF (p7878)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\",\"BADGE - Best Seller (p7883)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697876467953","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697875255537","1149412359","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697877549297","Gruffalo-Granny/Julia-Donaldson","gid://shopify/Metafield/75698643828977","[{\"id\":\"134217362T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"\\\"A charming continuation of a much-beloved series-and a clever tribute to the power of storytelling.\\\"-Kirkus\"},{\"id\":\"134241535T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"\\\"A charming continuation of a much-beloved series--and a clever tribute to the power of storytelling.\\\"--Kirkus\"},{\"id\":\"123781206T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Julia Donaldson invites readers back to the beloved, quirky world of the Gruffalo. Silly and sweet, get ready to meet Gruffalo Granny in this delightful celebration of family.

\"},{\"id\":\"123560022T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Julia Donaldson is one of today's best-loved children's authors. She was the UK Children's Laureate 2011-2013 and has written more than 100 books for children, including the international bestsellers The Gruffalo and Room on the Broom. Her books have received numerous awards, including the Red House Children's Book Award and the Blue Peter Award.
Julia divides her time between West Sussex, England, and Edinburgh, Scotland.

Axel Scheffler was born in Hamburg, West Germany, and moved to England when he was twenty-five years old. After graduating from the Bath Academy of Art, he launched his illustrator career, and has achieved worldwide acclaim for his lively and engaging children's book illustrations. His paintings for The Gruffalo were called \\\"funny\\\" and \\\"downright lovable\\\" (Kirkus). He travels extensively and currently makes his home in England.

\"},{\"id\":\"122620659T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

Julia Donaldson is one of today's best-loved children's authors. She was the UK Children's Laureate 2011–2013 and has written more than 100 books for children, including the international bestsellers The Gruffalo and Room on the Broom. Her books have received numerous awards, including the Red House Children's Book Award and the Blue Peter Award. She lives in Sussex, England, with her husband.

Axel Scheffler was born in Hamburg, West Germany, and moved to England when he was twenty-five years old. After graduating from the Bath Academy of Art, he launched his illustrator career, and has achieved worldwide acclaim for his lively and engaging children's book illustrations. His paintings for The Gruffalo were called \\\"funny\\\" and \\\"downright lovable\\\" (Kirkus). He travels extensively and currently makes his home in England.

\"},{\"id\":\"131345163T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

Axel Scheffler was born in Hamburg, West Germany, and moved to England when he was twenty-five years old. After graduating from the Bath Academy of Art, he launched his illustrator career, and has achieved worldwide acclaim for his lively and engaging children's book illustrations. His paintings for The Gruffalo were called \\\"funny\\\" and \\\"downright lovable\\\" (Kirkus). He travels extensively and currently makes his home in England.

\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697876697329","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697875550449","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697876599025","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697876140273","[{\"contributorId\":353160,\"fullName\":\"Julia Donaldson\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1},{\"contributorId\":735303,\"fullName\":\"Axel Scheffler\",\"jobName\":\"Illustrator\",\"sequenceNumber\":2}]",[5953],{"_148":5954,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":5955,"_3716":5956,"_5881":5957,"_5883":5958,"_5885":5959,"_5887":5909,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47726983938289",{"_5892":5901,"_5894":5895},{"_148":5962,"_144":5963,"_5898":-5,"_3989":5964,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":5961,"_5894":5895},{"_76":5908,"_41":5909},[5960],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"17.99","gid://shopify/ProductImage/48713642180849","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9798217238736_p0.jpg?v=1774272233",1616,{"_5892":5901,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":5901,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":5961,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/9593021464817","The Toast of the Town","9780063589834","Cheers to Toast, the latest member of the #1 New York Times bestselling Food Group series from Jory John and Pete Oswald!Meet Toast. He knows everybody, and everybody knows him. He pops up wherever help is needed—shoveling sidewalks, welcoming newcomers, checking in on neighbors—just because.But Toast wasn't always so warm and toasty. In his younger days, he kept to himself, loafed around, and mostly just felt a little . . . stale. It took one life-changing moment to help him rise to the occasion.Can one ordinary piece of toast transform an entire community? And can helping others turn out to be the best thing since sliced bread?Jory John and Pete Oswald serve up another heaping plate of laughs and lessons with this empowering, witty, and charming addition to their #1 New York Times bestselling series!The ninth book in the Food Group series.Check out Jory John and Pete Oswald’s other funny bestselling books for kids ages four to eight and anyone who wants a laugh:· The Bad Seed· The Good Egg· The Cool Bean· The Couch Potato· The Smart Cookie· The Sour Grape· The Big Cheese· The Humble Pie· The Good Egg Presents: The Great Eggscape!· The Bad Seed Presents: The Good, the Bad, and the Spooky!· The Cool Bean Presents: As Cool as It Gets!· The Big Cheese Presents: Have Yourself a Cheesy Little Christmas· The Bad Seed Goes to the Library· The Good Egg and the Talent Show· The Cool Bean Makes a Splash· That’s What Dinosaurs Do","

Cheers to Toast, the latest member of the #1 New York Times bestselling Food Group series from Jory John and Pete Oswald!

Meet Toast. He knows everybody, and everybody knows him. He pops up wherever help is needed—shoveling sidewalks, welcoming newcomers, checking in on neighbors—just because.

But Toast wasn't always so warm and toasty. In his younger days, he kept to himself, loafed around, and mostly just felt a little . . . stale. It took one life-changing moment to help him rise to the occasion.

Can one ordinary piece of toast transform an entire community? And can helping others turn out to be the best thing since sliced bread?

Jory John and Pete Oswald serve up another heaping plate of laughs and lessons with this empowering, witty, and charming addition to their #1 New York Times bestselling series!

The ninth book in the Food Group series.

Check out Jory John and Pete Oswald’s other funny bestselling books for kids ages four to eight and anyone who wants a laugh:

· The Bad Seed

· The Good Egg

· The Cool Bean

· The Couch Potato

· The Smart Cookie

· The Sour Grape

· The Big Cheese

· The Humble Pie

· The Good Egg Presents: The Great Eggscape!

· The Bad Seed Presents: The Good, the Bad, and the Spooky!

· The Cool Bean Presents: As Cool as It Gets!

· The Big Cheese Presents: Have Yourself a Cheesy Little Christmas

· The Bad Seed Goes to the Library

· The Good Egg and the Talent Show

· The Cool Bean Makes a Splash

· That’s What Dinosaurs Do

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Get bready for a silly new story in the Food Group series. Meet Toast: he always pops up wherever he’s kneaded. But he wasn’t always so warm! Learn his adorable origin story in pun-filled new tale, The Toast of the Town.

\"},{\"id\":\"126946501T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Jory John is a #1 New York Times bestselling author and two-time E. B. White Read Aloud Honor recipient. Jory’s work includes the award-winning Goodnight Already! series; the bestselling Food Group series, including The Bad Seed, The Good Egg, and more; the national bestseller All My Friends Are Dead; and many more popular picture books. You can visit him online at joryjohn.com.

Pete Oswald is an artist, picture book creator, and production designer. Pete is the illustrator of the New York Times bestselling Food Group series by Jory John and the Cranky series by Phuc Tran as well as many other picture books. When Pete is not working on books, he is helping to uplift many of the most successful animated franchises as a character designer, concept artist, and production designer. Pete lives in Los Angeles, California, with his wife and three sons.

\"},{\"id\":\"131343954T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

Jory John is a #1 New York Times bestselling author and two-time E. B. White Read Aloud Honor recipient. Jory's work includes the award-winning Goodnight Already! series; the bestselling Food Group series, including The Bad Seed, The Good Egg, and more; the national bestseller All My Friends Are Dead; and many more popular picture books. You can visit him online at joryjohn.com.

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When Mei Mei accidentally breaks her ama's favorite cup, she's convinced it's the end of the world. What if Ama is angry? What if she yells? What if she kicks Mei Mei out of her house? Mei Mei can't face it. But when Mimi, the innocent cat who witnesses her crime, ends up being blamed, the guilt is too much! Mimi's accusing eyes follow Mei Mei until she just can't take it anymore, and the truth comes spilling out.

With vibrant and moody cinematic illustrations and pitch-perfect pacing, X. Fang's newest picture book is filled to the brim with comedic drama and the comforting sweetness of a grandparent's forgiving hug.",{"_148":6081,"_144":6082,"_3989":6083,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":6086},{"_5902":6084,"_5904":6085},{"_5873":6072},{"_5838":6059},{"_5838":6029},{"_5838":5797},[6040,-5,-5,6041,6042,-5,6043,6044,6045,6046,6047,-5,6048,6049,-5,6050,6051,6052],{"_148":6070,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":6071},{"_148":6069,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6068,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6067,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":6065,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":6066},{"_148":6063,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":6064},{"_148":6061,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":6062},{"_148":6060,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":6058,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":6059},{"_148":6057,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":6029},{"_148":6056,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":6055,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":5935},{"_148":6053,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":6054},"gid://shopify/Metafield/79682149843185","3","gid://shopify/Metafield/79682149875953","gid://shopify/Metafield/42160551854321","gid://shopify/Metafield/42160547070193","gid://shopify/Metafield/42160554475761","[\"Picture Books (p4127)\",\"Barnes & Noble @ School (p310)\",\"Frankenkitty Only $9.99 With Purchase of Any Kids' Book (p1237)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/42160551166193","gid://shopify/Metafield/42160548741361","1147082486","gid://shopify/Metafield/42160553492721","Broken/X-Fang","gid://shopify/Metafield/58353905762545","[{\"id\":\"116238470T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"A 2025 New York Times/New York Public Library Best Illustrated Children’s Book
A 2026 Barnes & Noble Best Picture Book of the Year
An American Library Association Notable Children's Book of 2026
A Kirkus Reviews Best Picture Book of the Year
One of Kirkus Reviews' 90 Most Anticipated Fall Books for Young Readers, 2025
A 2026 Bank Street College Best Children's Book of the Year
A 2025 Heather's Pick
A Barnes &Noble's Best Kids' Books of 2026 (So Far) Pick
A New York Public Library Best Book for Kids of 2025
A Chicago Public Library Best Book of 2025
A Texas Library Association 2x2 Reading List Pick, 2026
An NPR \\\"Books We Love\\\" Selection of 2025
A 2026 BRAW Amazing Bookshelf Selection
A 2025 Kids Indie Next Pick for November/December
An NY Mag Best Kids Book of 2025
A Smithsonian Magazine Best Children's Book of 2025
Shortlisted for the Barnes & Noble Children’s & YA Book Awards 2026
One of the Evanston Public Library's 101 Great Books for Kids of 2025
One of Pen America's Best Children's Books of 2025
A Children's Book Review Best Picture Book of 2025
A Brightly Best Picture Book of 2025
Nominated for the 2027 Washington Children's Choice Book Award
A 2026 Saskatchewan Young Readers Choice Snow Willow Award Nominee
Southern California Indie Bestseller
A Pennsylvania Center for the Book's Best Children's Book for Family Literacy

\\\"Fang’s illustrations are rich with color and texture. Cinematic framing and clever use of perspective draw readers into Mei Mei’s inner world and show how a young child experiences difficult feelings, turning an everyday accident into a relatable tale of honesty, repair and love.\\\" —New York Times

\\\"Warm, tender and informative, little ones will learn the power of honesty and communication in this gorgeous picture book.\\\" —Barnes & Noble

\\\"Fang makes room for both laugh-out-loud humor and moments of genuine empathy; rife with homey details, her softly rounded illustrations exude warmth. . . . A common childhood experience, conveyed with an uncommon mix of sensitivity, mirth, and heart.\\\" —STARRED REVIEW, Kirkus Reviews

\\\"This flawless picture book teaches young readers that with honesty, love, and a little glue, there is no mistake too big to fix. Fang is back with a heartwarming tale of a universal childhood (and adulthood) experience: breaking something important. . . . This is a perfect fit for SEL lessons about owning up to one’s mistakes and asking for forgiveness. A must-buy and ideal read-aloud for all libraries.\\\" —STARRED REVIEW, School Library Journal

\\\"Broken, yet another winning picture book by author/illustrator X. Fang, describes a passionate, child-centered experience that includes boredom, crisis, redemption, and . . . cake!\\\" —STARRED REVIEW, Shelf Awareness

\\\"Peace settles over the living room with the understanding that objects and trust alike become more precious for having been lovingly mended.\\\" —Publishers Weekly

\\\"Digitally colored pencil drawings convey the high drama of a child’s emotions . . . Fang’s story is laced with humor[.]\\\" —The Horn Book

\\\"In illustrations rendered with fine-lined shading, off-kilter angles, and pleasantly chunky figure design, Fang wryly taps into a childlike sense of anxiety and fear of consequences, as well as the relief of forgiveness and unconditional love. Mei Mei’s emotional roller coaster is comically but unmistakably telegraphed in Fang’s depictions of faces and gestures, and kids who need a reminder that accidents happen will be especially heartened by the warm resolution.\\\" —Booklist

\\\"Balancing visual humor with tenderness, Fang has crafted a tale that ultimately reassures while provoking genuine giggles.\\\" —Mahnaz Dar, Kirkus Reviews

\\\"Broken is about the unbreakable bond between a grandmother and her grandchild, and also the reassuring truth that many things that are broken can be repaired.\\\" —Imaginary Elevators

\\\"The impeccable pacing of the back and forth, laugh-out-loud stare-off between Mei Mei and Mimi heightens the tension of the narrative as the little girl’s growing guilty conscience urges her to tell the truth. A touching ending with grandmother and grandchild fixing the broken cup together reminds readers that 'every patch and every repair tells a story' and that love is built on honesty and forgiveness.\\\" —Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books

\\\"X. Fang is now three for three in the absolutely terrific picture books department. . . . I cannot wait to do this story in storytime.\\\" —Mr. Brian's Picture Book Picks

\\\"Broken is a gentle story of a little girl with big feelings rendered in soft layered colored pencil. This story is simple, but soothing, and a reminder that what’s broken can always be fixed (and to perhaps not trust cats, who are always up to something).\\\" —The Southern Bookseller\"},{\"id\":\"130258927T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"A 2025 New York Times/New York Public Library Best Illustrated Children's Book
A 2026 Barnes & Noble Best Picture Book of the Year
An American Library Association Notable Children's Book of 2026
A Kirkus Reviews Best Picture Book of the Year
One of Kirkus Reviews' 90 Most Anticipated Fall Books for Young Readers, 2025
A 2026 Bank Street College Best Children's Book of the Year
A 2025 Heather's Pick
A Barnes &Noble's Best Kids' Books of 2026 (So Far) Pick
A New York Public Library Best Book for Kids of 2025
A Chicago Public Library Best Book of 2025
A Texas Library Association 2x2 Reading List Pick, 2026
An NPR \\\"Books We Love\\\" Selection of 2025
A 2026 BRAW Amazing Bookshelf Selection
A 2025 Kids Indie Next Pick for November/December
An NY Mag Best Kids Book of 2025
A Smithsonian Magazine Best Children's Book of 2025
Shortlisted for the Barnes & Noble Children's & YA Book Awards 2026
One of the Evanston Public Library's 101 Great Books for Kids of 2025
One of Pen America's Best Children's Books of 2025
A Children's Book Review Best Picture Book of 2025
A Brightly Best Picture Book of 2025
Nominated for the 2027 Washington Children's Choice Book Award
A 2026 Saskatchewan Young Readers Choice Snow Willow Award Nominee
Southern California Indie Bestseller
A Pennsylvania Center for the Book's Best Children's Book for Family Literacy

\\\"Fang's illustrations are rich with color and texture. Cinematic framing and clever use of perspective draw readers into Mei Mei's inner world and show how a young child experiences difficult feelings, turning an everyday accident into a relatable tale of honesty, repair and love.\\\" --New York Times

\\\"Warm, tender and informative, little ones will learn the power of honesty and communication in this gorgeous picture book.\\\" --Barnes & Noble

\\\"Fang makes room for both laugh-out-loud humor and moments of genuine empathy; rife with homey details, her softly rounded illustrations exude warmth. . . . A common childhood experience, conveyed with an uncommon mix of sensitivity, mirth, and heart.\\\" --STARRED REVIEW, Kirkus Reviews

\\\"This flawless picture book teaches young readers that with honesty, love, and a little glue, there is no mistake too big to fix. Fang is back with a heartwarming tale of a universal childhood (and adulthood) experience: breaking something important. . . . This is a perfect fit for SEL lessons about owning up to one's mistakes and asking for forgiveness. A must-buy and ideal read-aloud for all libraries.\\\" --STARRED REVIEW, School Library Journal

\\\"Broken, yet another winning picture book by author/illustrator X. Fang, describes a passionate, child-centered experience that includes boredom, crisis, redemption, and . . . cake!\\\" --STARRED REVIEW, Shelf Awareness

\\\"Peace settles over the living room with the understanding that objects and trust alike become more precious for having been lovingly mended.\\\" --Publishers Weekly

\\\"Digitally colored pencil drawings convey the high drama of a child's emotions . . . Fang's story is laced with humor[.]\\\" --The Horn Book

\\\"In illustrations rendered with fine-lined shading, off-kilter angles, and pleasantly chunky figure design, Fang wryly taps into a childlike sense of anxiety and fear of consequences, as well as the relief of forgiveness and unconditional love. Mei Mei's emotional roller coaster is comically but unmistakably telegraphed in Fang's depictions of faces and gestures, and kids who need a reminder that accidents happen will be especially heartened by the warm resolution.\\\" --Booklist

\\\"Balancing visual humor with tenderness, Fang has crafted a tale that ultimately reassures while provoking genuine giggles.\\\" --Mahnaz Dar, Kirkus Reviews

\\\"Broken is about the unbreakable bond between a grandmother and her grandchild, and also the reassuring truth that many things that are broken can be repaired.\\\" --Imaginary Elevators

\\\"The impeccable pacing of the back and forth, laugh-out-loud stare-off between Mei Mei and Mimi heightens the tension of the narrative as the little girl's growing guilty conscience urges her to tell the truth. A touching ending with grandmother and grandchild fixing the broken cup together reminds readers that 'every patch and every repair tells a story' and that love is built on honesty and forgiveness.\\\" --Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books

\\\"X. Fang is now three for three in the absolutely terrific picture books department. . . . I cannot wait to do this story in storytime.\\\" --Mr. Brian's Picture Book Picks

\\\"Broken is a gentle story of a little girl with big feelings rendered in soft layered colored pencil. This story is simple, but soothing, and a reminder that what's broken can always be fixed (and to perhaps not trust cats, who are always up to something).\\\" --The Southern Bookseller\"},{\"id\":\"118296404T\",\"type\":\"Award Note\",\"linkText\":\"Award Note\",\"typeId\":\"1036\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"2026 Barnes & Noble Children’s & YA Book Awards - Picture Books, Winner
2027 Kentucky Bluegrass Award, Nominated
2025 New York Times Best Illustrated Book, Winner
2027 Washington Children's Choice Picture Book Award, Nominated
\"},{\"id\":\"125480251T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

This sweet and touching story about emotions follows a little girl who learns about forgiveness after accidentally breaking her ama’s favorite cup. Warm, tender and informative, little ones will learn the power of honesty and communication in this gorgeous picture book.

\"},{\"id\":\"116238471T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

X. FANG is a visual artist and maker of books for young readers, including Dim Sum Palace, winner of the 2023 Society of Illustrators' Dilys Evans Founder's Award among other honors, and We Are Definitely Human, an Ezra Jack Keats Illustration Award winner, an American Library Association Notable Children's Book, an Indie Next Pick and the recipient of five starred reviews. She exhibits her art throughout the U.S. and internationally and has worked professionally as a graphic designer and art director for film and television studios. Born in Taichung, Taiwan, raised in Atlanta, Georgia, she now lives in rural Maine with her husband, son and their dog, Pamela.

\"},{\"id\":\"111507478T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"X. FANG is a visual artist and maker of books for young readers, including Dim Sum Palace, winner of the 2023 Society of Illustrators' Dilys Evans Founder's Award among other honors, and We Are Definitely Human, an Ezra Jack Keats Illustration Award winner, an American Library Association Notable Children's Book, an Indie Next Pick and the recipient of five starred reviews. She exhibits her art throughout the U.S. and internationally and has worked professionally as a graphic designer and art director for film and television studios. Born in Taichung, Taiwan, raised in Atlanta, Georgia, she now lives in rural Maine with her husband, son and their dog, Pamela.\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/42160551624945","gid://shopify/Metafield/42160549101809","gid://shopify/Metafield/42160551395569","gid://shopify/Metafield/42160549593329","[{\"contributorId\":29002596,\"fullName\":\"X. Fang\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",[6073],{"_148":6074,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":-5,"_3716":6075,"_5881":6076,"_5883":6077,"_5885":6078,"_5887":6029,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46301914104049",{"_148":6081,"_144":6082,"_5898":-5,"_3989":6083,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":6080,"_5894":5895},{"_76":6028,"_41":6029},[6079],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"18.99","gid://shopify/ProductImage/47611736916209","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781774882009_p0.jpg?v=1768979868",1559,{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6080,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/9299075432689","Is This a Plum? A Peek-Through Picture Book","9798217223138","NATIONAL BESTSELLER • Is this a pear? No, it’s a bear! This delightfully clever keepsake picture book is full of visual tricks and rhyming reveals to inspire wonder while making you chuckle—brought to life by an Oscar-nominated animator and based on his seven-year-old son's original idea and drawings!Through the hole in the page, you might see a plum… or a spider… or a spoon. But turn the page to see the full picture and—SURPRISE!—it's something unexpected: the moon, a tiger, even a hippo’s bum!This deceptively simple picture book debut by father-and-son duo Dan and Finn Ojari uses bold, stylish art, rhyming call-and-response text, and cut-through holes that play with shape and color to create a deeply satisfying read-aloud experience for children and adults.","NATIONAL BESTSELLER • Is this a pear? No, it’s a bear!

This delightfully clever keepsake picture book is full of visual tricks and rhyming reveals to inspire wonder while making you chuckle—brought to life by an Oscar-nominated animator and based on his seven-year-old son's original idea and drawings!

Through the hole in the page, you might see a plum… or a spider… or a spoon. But turn the page to see the full picture and—SURPRISE!—it's something unexpected: the moon, a tiger, even a hippo’s bum!

This deceptively simple picture book debut by father-and-son duo Dan and Finn Ojari uses bold, stylish art, rhyming call-and-response text, and cut-through holes that play with shape and color to create a deeply satisfying read-aloud experience for children and adults.",{"_148":6140,"_144":6141,"_3989":6142,"_3985":6143,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":6146},{"_5902":6144,"_5904":6145},{"_5873":6132},{"_5838":6119},{"_5838":6089},{"_5838":5797},[6100,-5,-5,6101,6102,-5,6103,6104,6105,6106,6107,-5,6108,6109,-5,6110,6111,6112],{"_148":6130,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":6131},{"_148":6129,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6128,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6127,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":6125,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":6126},{"_148":6123,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":6124},{"_148":6121,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":6122},{"_148":6120,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":6118,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":6119},{"_148":6117,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":6089},{"_148":6116,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":6115,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":5935},{"_148":6113,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":6114},"gid://shopify/Metafield/89107971408113","6","gid://shopify/Metafield/89107971440881","gid://shopify/Metafield/60864775487729","gid://shopify/Metafield/60864774078705","gid://shopify/Metafield/60864776241393","[\"Picture Books (p4127)\",\"Barnes & Noble @ School (p310)\",\"Frankenkitty Only $9.99 With Purchase of Any Kids' Book (p1237)\",\"Beautiful Gift Books for Kids (p10518)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/60864775323889","gid://shopify/Metafield/60864774832369","1148300427","gid://shopify/Metafield/60864775880945","Is-This-a-Plum-A-Peek-Through-Picture-Book/Dan-Ojari","gid://shopify/Metafield/62019022455025","[{\"id\":\"124891265T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"★ \\\"Idiosyncratic and thought-provoking in the very best ways.\\\" —Kirkus Reviews, starred review\"},{\"id\":\"134294322T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"★ \\\"Idiosyncratic and thought-provoking in the very best ways.\\\" --Kirkus Reviews, starred review\"},{\"id\":\"132287521T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Is it a plum? Is it a bum? Whatever it is, it’s so much fun! Filled with clever wordplay and bold art from father-son duo Dan and Finn Ojari, this delightful picture book allows budding readers to learn all about perspective. Die cut pages make this a perfect interactive read to inspire creativity.

\"},{\"id\":\"116393381T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Dan Ojari is an Oscar-nominated director and writer (alongside making children's books and the occasional wooden spoon). As a boy, he was homeschooled, which meant he could spend a lot of time drawing and dreaming. Dan now lives in Bristol, working at Aardman Animations by day and by night is often reading a book with his wife, two sons, and identical black cats.

Finn Ojari is eight years old and has been an artist for most of his life. He likes jam sandwiches and rescuing beetles, and one day hopes to be a real-life wizard.

\"},{\"id\":\"115348845T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Dan Ojari is an Oscar-nominated director and writer (alongside making children's books and the occasional wooden spoon). As a boy, he was homeschooled, which meant he could spend a lot of time drawing and dreaming. Dan now lives in Bristol, working at Aardman Animations by day and by night is often reading a book with his wife, two sons, and identical black cats.

Finn Ojari is seven years old and has been an artist for most of his life. He likes jam sandwiches and rescuing beetles, and one day hopes to be a real-life wizard.\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/60864775422193","gid://shopify/Metafield/60864774930673","gid://shopify/Metafield/60864775389425","gid://shopify/Metafield/60864775160049","[{\"contributorId\":23259765,\"fullName\":\"Dan Ojari\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1},{\"contributorId\":32440598,\"fullName\":\"Finn Ojari\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":2}]",[6133],{"_148":6134,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":-5,"_3716":6135,"_5881":6136,"_5883":6137,"_5885":6138,"_5887":6089,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46934321234161",{"_148":6140,"_144":6141,"_5898":-5,"_3989":6142,"_3985":6143},{"_5892":5901,"_5894":5895},{"_76":6088,"_41":6089},[6139],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/47636775076081","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9798217223138_p0.jpg?v=1789569346",1996,1987,{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":5901,"_5894":5895},"8f221da33db5",{"_4767":6150,"_119":120,"_56":4939,"_61":4940,"_345":-5,"_144":6151},"The Best Young Readers' Books of 2026",[6153,6154,6155,6156,6157],{"_48":139,"_143":10,"_144":6152},"https://www.barnesandnoble.com/blog/the-best-young-readers-books-of-2026",{"_5792":5793,"_148":6419,"_76":6420,"_5796":5797,"_41":6421,"_53":6422,"_5800":6423,"_5802":6424,"_5804":6425,"_5806":17,"_5807":6426,"_5809":6427,"_79":6428,"_5812":6429,"_5814":6430,"_5816":-5,"_5817":6431},{"_5792":5793,"_148":6361,"_76":6362,"_5796":5797,"_41":6363,"_53":6364,"_5800":6365,"_5802":6366,"_5804":6367,"_5806":17,"_5807":6368,"_5809":6369,"_79":6370,"_5812":6371,"_5814":6372,"_5816":-5,"_5817":6373},{"_5792":5793,"_148":6296,"_76":6297,"_5796":279,"_41":6298,"_53":6299,"_5800":6300,"_5802":6301,"_5804":6302,"_5806":17,"_5807":6303,"_5809":6304,"_79":6305,"_5812":6306,"_5814":6307,"_5816":-5,"_5817":6308},{"_5792":5793,"_148":6231,"_76":6232,"_5796":5797,"_41":6233,"_53":6234,"_5800":6235,"_5802":6236,"_5804":6237,"_5806":17,"_5807":6238,"_5809":6239,"_79":6240,"_5812":6241,"_5814":6242,"_5816":-5,"_5817":6243},{"_5792":5793,"_148":6158,"_76":6159,"_5796":6160,"_41":6161,"_53":6162,"_5800":6163,"_5802":6164,"_5804":6165,"_5806":17,"_5807":6166,"_5809":6167,"_79":6168,"_5812":6169,"_5814":6170,"_5816":6171,"_5817":6172},"gid://shopify/Product/9480109031665","A Sprinkle in Time (B&N Exclusive Edition) (Dog Man Series #15)","BN Exclusive","9798225088873","This Barnes & Noble Exclusive Edition includes a colorable pull-out poster! Power up with Dog Man: A Sprinkle in Time from the #1 global bestselling series by Dav Pilkey! Buckle up for the newest Dog Man space-capade! Mischievous villain Grampa is back with more lies and trickery as he alters the fabric of time, turning Dog Man's world upside down. And to top it off, Nurse Lady has been kidnapped by the Space Cuties and imprisoned on Planet Precious with Li'l Petey and Molly.Our heroes Dog Man, Petey, and Chief blast off aboard Petey's Space Shark to rescue their friends from the evil Professor Puddin' Pop. But when their spaceship is swallowed up and destroyed, their mission takes a dangerous turn. Who will light the way when hope dangles by a single, trembling thread? Who will step up and save the day? Action, suspense, time travel, and humor -- it's the saga of the century!Dav Pilkey's trademark storytelling reminds readers about the power of belief and the importance of trust and hope. The story features amazing illustrations, dynamic colors, and Flip-O-Ramas that take this worldwide bestselling series to new heights.For additional awesome, funny, action-packed, and inspiring adventures filled with creativity and wonder, read Dav Pilkey's Cat Kid Comic Club and Super Diaper Baby graphic novels as well as the Captain Underpants and Dragon chapter book series. Be sure to check out the exciting new Captain Underpants Epic Manga series with artwork by Motojiro. And don't forget about the two acclaimed major motion pictures: Dog Man and Captain Underpants: The First Epic Movie.","

This Barnes & Noble Exclusive Edition includes a colorable pull-out poster!

Power up with Dog Man: A Sprinkle in Time from the #1 global bestselling series by Dav Pilkey!

Buckle up for the newest Dog Man space-capade! Mischievous villain Grampa is back with more lies and trickery as he alters the fabric of time, turning Dog Man's world upside down. And to top it off, Nurse Lady has been kidnapped by the Space Cuties and imprisoned on Planet Precious with Li'l Petey and Molly.

Our heroes Dog Man, Petey, and Chief blast off aboard Petey's Space Shark to rescue their friends from the evil Professor Puddin' Pop. But when their spaceship is swallowed up and destroyed, their mission takes a dangerous turn. Who will light the way when hope dangles by a single, trembling thread? Who will step up and save the day? Action, suspense, time travel, and humor -- it's the saga of the century!

Dav Pilkey's trademark storytelling reminds readers about the power of belief and the importance of trust and hope. The story features amazing illustrations, dynamic colors, and Flip-O-Ramas that take this worldwide bestselling series to new heights.

For additional awesome, funny, action-packed, and inspiring adventures filled with creativity and wonder, read Dav Pilkey's Cat Kid Comic Club and Super Diaper Baby graphic novels as well as the Captain Underpants and Dragon chapter book series. Be sure to check out the exciting new Captain Underpants Epic Manga series with artwork by Motojiro. And don't forget about the two acclaimed major motion pictures: Dog Man and Captain Underpants: The First Epic Movie.

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Prepare to join the pack: Dog Man is back! Dog Man returns in the saga of the century. After Grandpa alters the fabric of time and space, our canine leader must step up in the rip-roaring new adventure Dog Man: A Sprinkle In Time. Our Exclusive Edition includes a colorable pull-out poster.

\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/76686615281905","gid://shopify/Metafield/76686614200561","gid://shopify/Metafield/76686615183601","gid://shopify/Metafield/76686614823153","seriesNumber","15","gid://shopify/Metafield/76686614757617","Dog Man Series","gid://shopify/Metafield/76686614528241","[{\"contributorId\":228429,\"fullName\":\"Dav Pilkey\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1},{\"contributorId\":228429,\"fullName\":\"Dav Pilkey\",\"jobName\":\"Illustrator\",\"sequenceNumber\":2}]","[{\"Key\":\"formatChicletOverlay\",\"Value\":\"BN Exclusive\"}]",[6215],{"_148":6216,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":6217,"_3716":6218,"_5881":6219,"_5883":6220,"_5885":6221,"_5887":6161,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47810892955889",{"_5892":6227,"_5894":5895},{"_148":6224,"_144":6225,"_5898":-5,"_3989":6226,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":6223,"_5894":5895},{"_76":6159,"_41":6161},[6222],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"11.19","gid://shopify/ProductImage/48735904071921","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9798225088873_p0.jpg?v=1776463762",1352,"15.99",{"_5892":6227,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6227,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6223,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/9449468035313","Fight or Flight (Diary of a Wimpy Kid #21)","9781419782701","Greg Heffley is about to learn that surviving middle school is no easy feat.In Fight or Flight, the 21st book in Jeff Kinney’s globally bestselling Diary of a Wimpy Kid series, Greg's hard-earned expertise on navigating the rough-and-tumble world of middle school is put to the test.When a secret binder filled with Greg’s notes on the school’s biggest bullies falls into the wrong hands, his world quickly begins to unravel. Now it’s a race against time before the truth comes out. Will Greg throw in the towel—or go down swinging?A hilarious read for kids ages 8-12, packed with classic Wimpy Kid humor, unforgettable middle-school drama, friendship twists, and Jeff Kinney's signature illustrations.Collect all the books in the #1 bestselling Diary of a Wimpy Kid series: Diary of a Wimpy Kid (#1) | Rodrick Rules (#2) | The Last Straw (#3) | Dog Days (#4) | The Ugly Truth (#5) | Cabin Fever (#6) | The Third Wheel (#7) | Hard Luck (#8) | The Long Haul (#9) | Old School (#10) | Double Down (#11) | The Getaway (#12) | The Meltdown (#13) | Wrecking Ball (#14) | The Deep End (#15) | Big Shot (#16) | Diper Överlöde (#17) | No Brainer (#18) | Hot Mess (#19) | Partypooper (#20) | Fight or Flight (#21)See the Wimpy Kid World in a whole new way with the #1 bestselling Awesome Friendly books, told from the perspective of Greg Heffley’s best friend Rowley Jefferson: Diary of an Awesome Friendly Kid: Rowley Jefferson’s Journal | Rowley Jefferson’s Awesome Friendly Adventure | Rowley Jefferson’s Awesome Friendly Spooky Stories | Rowley Jefferson’s Awesome Friendly Spooky Stories 2","

Greg Heffley is about to learn that surviving middle school is no easy feat.

In Fight or Flight, the 21st book in Jeff Kinney’s globally bestselling Diary of a Wimpy Kid series, Greg's hard-earned expertise on navigating the rough-and-tumble world of middle school is put to the test.

When a secret binder filled with Greg’s notes on the school’s biggest bullies falls into the wrong hands, his world quickly begins to unravel. Now it’s a race against time before the truth comes out. Will Greg throw in the towel—or go down swinging?

A hilarious read for kids ages 8-12, packed with classic Wimpy Kid humor, unforgettable middle-school drama, friendship twists, and Jeff Kinney's signature illustrations.

See the Wimpy Kid World in a whole new way with the #1 bestselling Awesome Friendly books, told from the perspective of Greg Heffley’s best friend Rowley Jefferson: Diary of an Awesome Friendly Kid: Rowley Jefferson’s Journal | Rowley Jefferson’s Awesome Friendly Adventure | Rowley Jefferson’s Awesome Friendly Spooky Stories | Rowley Jefferson’s Awesome Friendly Spooky Stories 2

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Greg is about to face his biggest challenge yet. When the going gets tough, what’s a Wimpy Kid to do? Enlist his pals for help! In Fight or Flight, Greg learns just how important it is to have friends in his corner.

\"},{\"id\":\"122827935T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Jeff Kinney is a #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series and the Awesome Friendly Kid series. He is a six–time Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Award winner for Favorite Book and has been named one of Time magazine’s 100 Most Influential People in the World. He spent his childhood in the Washington, DC, area and moved to New England, where he and his wife own a bookstore named An Unlikely Story.

\"},{\"id\":\"122556828T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

Abrams Books

\"},{\"id\":\"130878576T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"Jeff Kinney is a #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series and the Awesome Friendly Kid series. He is a six-time Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Award winner for Favorite Book and has been named one of Time magazine’s 100 Most Influential People in the World. He spent his childhood in the Washington, D.C., area and moved to New England, where he and his wife own a bookstore named An Unlikely Story.\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/75660967444721","gid://shopify/Metafield/75660966592753","gid://shopify/Metafield/75660967346417","gid://shopify/Metafield/75837431185649","21","gid://shopify/Metafield/75837431218417","Diary of a Wimpy Kid Series","gid://shopify/Metafield/75660966822129","[{\"contributorId\":1366138,\"fullName\":\"Jeff Kinney\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",[6282],{"_148":6283,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":6284,"_3716":6285,"_5881":6286,"_5883":6287,"_5885":6288,"_5887":6233,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47723632361713",{"_5892":6227,"_5894":5895},{"_148":6290,"_144":6291,"_5898":-5,"_3989":6292,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":6223,"_5894":5895},{"_76":6232,"_41":6233},[6289],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/48608324550897","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781419782701_p0.jpg?v=1774060389",1363,{"_5892":6227,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6227,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6223,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/9485117456625","The School for Thieves","9781665982290","A New York Times bestseller Winner of the Barnes & Noble Children’s and YA Book Award A young pickpocket gets recruited into an elite group of thieves in this “page-turning, edge-of-the-seat” (Publishers Weekly, starred review) upper middle grade boarding school adventure full of heists, danger, and secret plots perfect for fans of Spy School and Keeper of the Lost Cities.Tom Morgan’s life on the streets of London consists of shining shoes, picking pockets, and keeping his group of street kids out of the hands of snatchers. When he fails at the last and their home is raided, Tom is the only one not carted off to the workhouse. He’s determined to rescue his friends, but breaking into the workhouse is a nearly impossible task, let alone breaking back out. Tom is at a loss until he’s approached by a mysterious figure claiming to be an accomplished thief and Tom’s ticket to the best training in the clandestine arts in the world: an elite international boarding school that would teach him all the skills necessary to help his friends. Without any better ideas—and his curiosity piqued—Tom accepts the invitation. Whisked away to the snowy Alps, Tom enters a thrilling world of intrigue and heists. But the deeper he gets into the Shadow League, the harder it becomes to leave. Tom has to learn fast and uncover the nefarious secrets within the league to have any chance of saving himself, his friends—and maybe even the world.","A New York Times bestseller
Winner of the Barnes & Noble Children’s and YA Book Award

A young pickpocket gets recruited into an elite group of thieves in this “page-turning, edge-of-the-seat” (Publishers Weekly, starred review) upper middle grade boarding school adventure full of heists, danger, and secret plots perfect for fans of Spy School and Keeper of the Lost Cities.

Tom Morgan’s life on the streets of London consists of shining shoes, picking pockets, and keeping his group of street kids out of the hands of snatchers. When he fails at the last and their home is raided, Tom is the only one not carted off to the workhouse. He’s determined to rescue his friends, but breaking into the workhouse is a nearly impossible task, let alone breaking back out.

Tom is at a loss until he’s approached by a mysterious figure claiming to be an accomplished thief and Tom’s ticket to the best training in the clandestine arts in the world: an elite international boarding school that would teach him all the skills necessary to help his friends. Without any better ideas—and his curiosity piqued—Tom accepts the invitation.

Whisked away to the snowy Alps, Tom enters a thrilling world of intrigue and heists. But the deeper he gets into the Shadow League, the harder it becomes to leave. Tom has to learn fast and uncover the nefarious secrets within the league to have any chance of saving himself, his friends—and maybe even the world.",{"_148":6355,"_144":6356,"_3989":6357,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":6360},{"_5902":6358,"_5904":6359},{"_5873":6346},{"_5838":6330},{"_5838":6298},{"_5838":279},[6309,6310,6311,6312,6313,-5,6314,6315,6316,6317,6318,-5,6319,6320,-5,6321,6322,6323],{"_148":6344,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":6345},{"_148":6343,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5868,"_5838":6297},{"_148":6342,"_5834":5843,"_5836":6207,"_5838":3788},{"_148":6341,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":279},{"_148":6340,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":279},{"_148":6338,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":6339},{"_148":6336,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":6337},{"_148":6334,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":6335},{"_148":6332,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":6333},{"_148":6331,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":6329,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":6330},{"_148":6328,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":6298},{"_148":6327,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":6326,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":5935},{"_148":6324,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":6325},"gid://shopify/Metafield/79078163677425","7","gid://shopify/Metafield/79078163710193","gid://shopify/Metafield/76872197964017","gid://shopify/Metafield/76872193999089","gid://shopify/Metafield/76872200552689","[\"Barnes & Noble @ School (p310)\",\"Frankenkitty Only $9.99 With Purchase of Any Kids' Book (p1237)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Summer Reading (p5957)\",\"Top Kids' Books for Your 2026 Summer Reading List (p7189)\",\"Paperbacks of the Year (p10818)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/76872197505265","gid://shopify/Metafield/76872195375345","1146889548","gid://shopify/Metafield/76872199012593","The-School-for-Thieves/Peter-Burns","gid://shopify/Metafield/76872200225009","[{\"id\":\"126986632T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Chapter One: Sleight of Hand and Foot Chapter One SLEIGHT OF HAND AND FOOT
It was a crisp autumn morning and Tom Morgan was sitting on a stool on the roadside just outside Fermian’s Café on Rue Notre-Dame—which had once been known as Oxford Street—the sun shining brightly and adding a welcome warmth to the cool air. Cabs, motor cars, and buses rattled over the cobbles in either direction, and the branches of the cork trees, brought there by the French thirty years earlier, swayed gently overhead, casting flickering silhouettes on the smooth gray stone of the buildings across the street.

The scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries drifted tantalizingly—agonizingly—from the open doors of Fermian’s, accompanied by the gentle sounds of a jazz record on the gramophone by the bar and the chink of cups and saucers.

Just a few doors down the street, Tom could see Maxine and Bernie unfolding a portable table.

“Magic ball trick!” Maxine began to call out to passersby. “Stop and see a magic ball trick! Guess which cup it’s under and double your money!”

A thickset man with a dark beard appeared beside Tom and gave one of the legs of his stool a nudge with the toe of a hobnail boot.

“How much for a shine?” he asked.

Tom glanced warily up at the man’s face, scanning his features to check whether he knew him. There was always a risk that he could be a policeman, a workhouse agent, or worst of all, a previous mark. But the tanned face behind the dark beard wasn’t one Tom recognized, so he relaxed and looked down at the boots, which were badly scuffed and well worn. Tom puffed his cheeks and then sucked his teeth in ponderous thought. “Quite a bit of work to do there, mister,” he said at last. “But I should be able to get them up to scratch for three francs.”

“See what you can do for two,” said the man, and he tossed the coins into the upturned hat lying by Tom’s feet.

“Right you are, sir,” said Tom, and slapped a polishing cloth on the box in front of him, just as his old friend and mentor Morris used to do. The man rested his left boot on it. Tom flipped open a toolbox beside the stool and lifted out a dog-eared copy of The Count of Monte Cristo, underneath which he kept every item a shoeshiner could ever need, and got to work.

The man pulled a newspaper from his coat pocket and began to read, humming along absently to the music coming from Fermian’s. Tom let his mind wander as he scrubbed the dirt from the cracks in the leather. Then he reached into the toolbox and withdrew two tins of polish. “Which color you after, mister?” he asked.

The man pulled back a corner of the paper and looked down. “The darker one,” he said, then went back to reading, leaving Tom staring up at a front-page headline: TREASURE FOR THE AGES GOES ON TOUR followed by the subheading THE ANCIENT BURIAL HOARD OF SARGON THE GREAT OF MESOPOTAMIA BEGINS WORLD TOUR. Intrigued, Tom scanned the opening lines of the article while unscrewing the lid of the polish and dabbing a cloth into the oily glop within.

The long-lost treasure of the twenty-fourth and twenty-third century BC Mesopotamian ruler, Sargon the Great, discovered just three years ago by archaeologists from the University of New Avignon, begins its world tour tomorrow with a grand opening at the British Museum. The treasure is on loan from its permanent home at the Metropolitan Museum of New Avignon for nine months and will travel to seven different museums around the world. Tickets to the London exhibition have been sold out for more than a year.

The hoard, one of the largest ever discovered at a single burial site, is of significant historical importance as the runes and hieroglyphs that adorn many of the items reveal new information about Mesopotamian society, culture, and politics that had been previously unknown to historians.

He turned back to the boots, massaging the oily polish into the leather and then beginning to buff it with a brush.

Somewhere down the road an exhaust backfired and a blue van rumbled past. The word “Guttknot” was etched in white on the flaking paint. Tom ducked his head low and tucked his arms in, trying to make himself as small as possible. After a few moments he risked a glance through the legs of passing pedestrians, but he couldn’t see the van. Then he realized he couldn’t hear it either. His hand paused its brushing. Was that a vehicle door closing? A sound followed that froze him. It was the clip, clip, clip of a metal-tipped staff striking the paving stones in time with its owner’s steps. Tom snapped his head up to see Cyril Borthwick, a workhouse agent, wandering toward them.

The shiny brass buckles of Borthwick’s uniform glinted in the morning sunshine, as did the silver globe on the top of his staff. Borthwick wasn’t a particularly tall man, but he was strong looking, with thick forearms, powerful shoulders, and a bull neck. A huge dark moustache drooped down below his jawline, and bushy whiskers spread across the edges of his cheeks and up to a ring of hair that circled a perfectly smooth crown.

Tom gave a shrill whistle. Maxine glanced up at Tom and then across to Borthwick. After a quick look of understanding, she gathered up her ball and cups, picked up the foldaway table, and grabbed Bernie by his jacket collar before dashing down a side alley.

“Nearly done, mister,” said Tom, attempting a grin that felt as thin as paper. He was a rat caught in a trap. He had to think fast.

Tom kept his head down and concentrated on buffing the boots. They were now shining brilliantly, but still he kept the polishing cloth gliding back and forth as the shrill tapping of Borthwick’s staff grew louder.

The bearded man looked up from his paper. “Can I help?” he asked gruffly.

“Good morning,” said Borthwick. He offered a grin, but it was little more than a baring of his teeth. One of his top front ones was missing. “Cyril Borthwick. I am a constable of this parish.”

Tom’s jaw tightened. A constable. That might be his official title, but Tom knew what Borthwick really was. A child-snatcher. A slaver. A killer. His eyes darted around, his mind whirring as he tried to judge the best moment to make a break for it.

The bearded man eyed Borthwick up and down and then gazed at the ornate silver globe at the top of the mace.

“A church constable, I presume? Not an actual officer of the law?”

Borthwick’s face stiffened, but then another toothy smile filled the small void beneath his moustache. “Indeed so. But to my parishioners, I am one and the same. A protector, a servant, a hand that keeps the peace and upholds the law.”

“Uh-huh. And how may I help you, Mr. Borthwick? I am neither of this parish, nor, I believe, in contravention of any of its by-laws.”

“Oh, my dear sir, it is not you for whom I stop. Indeed, I welcome you to our little corner of this great city and wish you well on this fine day.” Borthwick indicated Tom with the tip of his staff. “It’s this lad here I want. As one of the guardians of this community, I have been charged by the church elders, and their parishioners, to help the young and helpless in our community find new opportunities and purpose in their lives. The young and helpless like this lad here.”

The bearded man peered down at Tom. “He doesn’t look helpless to me. Making a way for himself in the world.”

“Ah, but he’s homeless and vulnerable.”

The bearded man folded his paper away and looked down at Tom. “You homeless, lad?”

Tom was about to answer, but Borthwick spoke first. “With respect, sir, I am quite au fait—”

“Nonsense. He’s performing a trade,” interrupted the bearded man. “A good little job. Practical. You’re still allowed to practice trades, aren’t you, Mr. Borthwick?”

“Yes, yes, indeed you are,” said Borthwick, beginning to get flustered. “But my job is to clean up the streets—”

“Ah, I see. So that’s it. The boy’s an eyesore that your parishioners don’t want on their picturesque streets?”

Borthwick’s tongue flicked in and out. “No, I didn’t say that. I’m here to offer him an opportunity. A roof over his head, regular meals, and a job that helps serve our society.”

The bearded man barked a laugh. “Oh, so that’s how they’re selling workhouse slavery now, is it?” He turned so that he was facing Borthwick square on, moving between Tom and the workhouse agent, his long coat sweeping around to obscure the boy from sight. Tom looked up to see that the man had crossed his hands behind his back. The forefinger of one hand extended and started to jab toward an alleyway that ran down the side of Fermian’s.

“Do you know what the true blight on this city is, Mr. Borthwick?” said the man, now stabbing the forefinger of his other hand into Borthwick’s fleshy abdomen. “It’s people like you, hiding under the guise of social justice when…”

As quickly and as quietly as he could, Tom wrapped his hat around the coins and then crammed them into his pocket and grabbed the toolbox just as the bearded man cried, “Take your hands off me, sir!”

He looked up to see the two men scuffling.

“You will move along!” roared Borthwick. “That boy is coming with me!”

The bearded man staggered backward, then regained his balance by grabbing Borthwick’s lapels, tugging them down, and forcing the agent into a crouch. As he did so, he spun to stare at Tom. “Get going, boy!” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Or it’ll be the workhouse for you!”

Tom was up and off, sprinting down the alleyway that curved around the back of Fermian’s and into a network of dank and narrow lanes beyond. Behind him he could hear Borthwick roaring and then footsteps running his way. Tom glanced back to see two other snatchers had emerged from the van and were pursuing him.

He bent his head and ran harder, ducking right and then right again down narrow alleys until he burst back onto Rue Notre-Dame. His best chance of escape was in the chaos of the busiest streets. He zigzagged, sidestepped, and pirouetted his way through the crowds, reaching up and plucking a flat cap from a passerby and jamming it onto his head. He skipped past a stall selling flowers, grabbing one of the handles and spinning the stall on its wheels. He could hear one of his pursuers swearing as he collided with the stall and was sent tumbling to the ground.

As they approached Bond Street metro station Tom saw a gaggle of smartly dressed schoolchildren marching in neat lines down the steps to the entrance. He slipped in behind them and delicately swapped the flat cap he had stolen with the spiffy blue cap belonging to a boy at the rear of the line. It was done so quickly and so smoothly that the boy didn’t notice. Tom jostled in between the children, slipping a scarf from the shoulders of one and draping it around his neck, then merged among their number as they passed through the ticket barriers.

Reaching the platform, Tom began to gently drift away among the milling throng of commuters waiting for the train, his new hat pulled down over his eyes, the scarf wrapped tight around his face. Just behind them, he saw his other pursuer push his way onto the platform and shove his way through the crowd. An expression of triumph on his gnarled features, the snatcher reached out and grabbed ahold of the boy in the flat cap, a look of utter bemusement falling across his features when he realized the child was in school uniform—a look which then turned to panic as the children’s teacher began to beat him away with an umbrella.

Tom, grinning, slunk back into the crowd.\"},{\"id\":\"119158607T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Chapter One: Sleight of Hand and Foot Chapter One SLEIGHT OF HAND AND FOOT
It was a crisp autumn morning and Tom Morgan was sitting on a stool on the roadside just outside Fermian’s Café on Rue Notre-Dame—which had once been known as Oxford Street—the sun shining brightly and adding a welcome warmth to the cool air. Cabs, motor cars, and buses rattled over the cobbles in either direction, and the branches of the cork trees, brought there by the French thirty years earlier, swayed gently overhead, casting flickering silhouettes on the smooth gray stone of the buildings across the street.

The scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries drifted tantalizingly—agonizingly—from the open doors of Fermian’s, accompanied by the gentle sounds of a jazz record on the gramophone by the bar and the chink of cups and saucers.

Just a few doors down the street, Tom could see Maxine and Bernie unfolding a portable table.

“Magic ball trick!” Maxine began to call out to passersby. “Stop and see a magic ball trick! Guess which cup it’s under and double your money!”

A thickset man with a dark beard appeared beside Tom and gave one of the legs of his stool a nudge with the toe of a hobnail boot.

“How much for a shine?” he asked.

Tom glanced warily up at the man’s face, scanning his features to check whether he knew him. There was always a risk that he could be a policeman, a workhouse agent, or worst of all, a previous mark. But the tanned face behind the dark beard wasn’t one Tom recognized, so he relaxed and looked down at the boots, which were badly scuffed and well worn. Tom puffed his cheeks and then sucked his teeth in ponderous thought. “Quite a bit of work to do there, mister,” he said at last. “But I should be able to get them up to scratch for three francs.”

“See what you can do for two,” said the man, and he tossed the coins into the upturned hat lying by Tom’s feet.

“Right you are, sir,” said Tom, and slapped a polishing cloth on the box in front of him, just as his old friend and mentor Morris used to do. The man rested his left boot on it. Tom flipped open a toolbox beside the stool and lifted out a dog-eared copy of The Count of Monte Cristo, underneath which he kept every item a shoeshiner could ever need, and got to work.

The man pulled a newspaper from his coat pocket and began to read, humming along absently to the music coming from Fermian’s. Tom let his mind wander as he scrubbed the dirt from the cracks in the leather. Then he reached into the toolbox and withdrew two tins of polish. “Which color you after, mister?” he asked.

The man pulled back a corner of the paper and looked down. “The darker one,” he said, then went back to reading, leaving Tom staring up at a front-page headline: TREASURE FOR THE AGES GOES ON TOUR followed by the subheading THE ANCIENT BURIAL HOARD OF SARGON THE GREAT OF MESOPOTAMIA BEGINS WORLD TOUR. Intrigued, Tom scanned the opening lines of the article while unscrewing the lid of the polish and dabbing a cloth into the oily glop within.

The long-lost treasure of the twenty-fourth and twenty-third century BC Mesopotamian ruler, Sargon the Great, discovered just three years ago by archaeologists from the University of New Avignon, begins its world tour tomorrow with a grand opening at the British Museum. The treasure is on loan from its permanent home at the Metropolitan Museum of New Avignon for nine months and will travel to seven different museums around the world. Tickets to the London exhibition have been sold out for more than a year.

The hoard, one of the largest ever discovered at a single burial site, is of significant historical importance as the runes and hieroglyphs that adorn many of the items reveal new information about Mesopotamian society, culture, and politics that had been previously unknown to historians.

He turned back to the boots, massaging the oily polish into the leather and then beginning to buff it with a brush.

Somewhere down the road an exhaust backfired and a blue van rumbled past. The word “Guttknot” was etched in white on the flaking paint. Tom ducked his head low and tucked his arms in, trying to make himself as small as possible. After a few moments he risked a glance through the legs of passing pedestrians, but he couldn’t see the van. Then he realized he couldn’t hear it either. His hand paused its brushing. Was that a vehicle door closing? A sound followed that froze him. It was the clip, clip, clip of a metal-tipped staff striking the paving stones in time with its owner’s steps. Tom snapped his head up to see Cyril Borthwick, a workhouse agent, wandering toward them.

The shiny brass buckles of Borthwick’s uniform glinted in the morning sunshine, as did the silver globe on the top of his staff. Borthwick wasn’t a particularly tall man, but he was strong looking, with thick forearms, powerful shoulders, and a bull neck. A huge dark moustache drooped down below his jawline, and bushy whiskers spread across the edges of his cheeks and up to a ring of hair that circled a perfectly smooth crown.

Tom gave a shrill whistle. Maxine glanced up at Tom and then across to Borthwick. After a quick look of understanding, she gathered up her ball and cups, picked up the foldaway table, and grabbed Bernie by his jacket collar before dashing down a side alley.

“Nearly done, mister,” said Tom, attempting a grin that felt as thin as paper. He was a rat caught in a trap. He had to think fast.

Tom kept his head down and concentrated on buffing the boots. They were now shining brilliantly, but still he kept the polishing cloth gliding back and forth as the shrill tapping of Borthwick’s staff grew louder.

The bearded man looked up from his paper. “Can I help?” he asked gruffly.

“Good morning,” said Borthwick. He offered a grin, but it was little more than a baring of his teeth. One of his top front ones was missing. “Cyril Borthwick. I am a constable of this parish.”

Tom’s jaw tightened. A constable. That might be his official title, but Tom knew what Borthwick really was. A child-snatcher. A slaver. A killer. His eyes darted around, his mind whirring as he tried to judge the best moment to make a break for it.

The bearded man eyed Borthwick up and down and then gazed at the ornate silver globe at the top of the mace.

“A church constable, I presume? Not an actual officer of the law?”

Borthwick’s face stiffened, but then another toothy smile filled the small void beneath his moustache. “Indeed so. But to my parishioners, I am one and the same. A protector, a servant, a hand that keeps the peace and upholds the law.”

“Uh-huh. And how may I help you, Mr. Borthwick? I am neither of this parish, nor, I believe, in contravention of any of its by-laws.”

“Oh, my dear sir, it is not you for whom I stop. Indeed, I welcome you to our little corner of this great city and wish you well on this fine day.” Borthwick indicated Tom with the tip of his staff. “It’s this lad here I want. As one of the guardians of this community, I have been charged by the church elders, and their parishioners, to help the young and helpless in our community find new opportunities and purpose in their lives. The young and helpless like this lad here.”

The bearded man peered down at Tom. “He doesn’t look helpless to me. Making a way for himself in the world.”

“Ah, but he’s homeless and vulnerable.”

The bearded man folded his paper away and looked down at Tom. “You homeless, lad?”

Tom was about to answer, but Borthwick spoke first. “With respect, sir, I am quite au fait—”

“Nonsense. He’s performing a trade,” interrupted the bearded man. “A good little job. Practical. You’re still allowed to practice trades, aren’t you, Mr. Borthwick?”

“Yes, yes, indeed you are,” said Borthwick, beginning to get flustered. “But my job is to clean up the streets—”

“Ah, I see. So that’s it. The boy’s an eyesore that your parishioners don’t want on their picturesque streets?”

Borthwick’s tongue flicked in and out. “No, I didn’t say that. I’m here to offer him an opportunity. A roof over his head, regular meals, and a job that helps serve our society.”

The bearded man barked a laugh. “Oh, so that’s how they’re selling workhouse slavery now, is it?” He turned so that he was facing Borthwick square on, moving between Tom and the workhouse agent, his long coat sweeping around to obscure the boy from sight. Tom looked up to see that the man had crossed his hands behind his back. The forefinger of one hand extended and started to jab toward an alleyway that ran down the side of Fermian’s.

“Do you know what the true blight on this city is, Mr. Borthwick?” said the man, now stabbing the forefinger of his other hand into Borthwick’s fleshy abdomen. “It’s people like you, hiding under the guise of social justice when…”

As quickly and as quietly as he could, Tom wrapped his hat around the coins and then crammed them into his pocket and grabbed the toolbox just as the bearded man cried, “Take your hands off me, sir!”

He looked up to see the two men scuffling.

“You will move along!” roared Borthwick. “That boy is coming with me!”

The bearded man staggered backward, then regained his balance by grabbing Borthwick’s lapels, tugging them down, and forcing the agent into a crouch. As he did so, he spun to stare at Tom. “Get going, boy!” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Or it’ll be the workhouse for you!”

Tom was up and off, sprinting down the alleyway that curved around the back of Fermian’s and into a network of dank and narrow lanes beyond. Behind him he could hear Borthwick roaring and then footsteps running his way. Tom glanced back to see two other snatchers had emerged from the van and were pursuing him.

He bent his head and ran harder, ducking right and then right again down narrow alleys until he burst back onto Rue Notre-Dame. His best chance of escape was in the chaos of the busiest streets. He zigzagged, sidestepped, and pirouetted his way through the crowds, reaching up and plucking a flat cap from a passerby and jamming it onto his head. He skipped past a stall selling flowers, grabbing one of the handles and spinning the stall on its wheels. He could hear one of his pursuers swearing as he collided with the stall and was sent tumbling to the ground.

As they approached Bond Street metro station Tom saw a gaggle of smartly dressed schoolchildren marching in neat lines down the steps to the entrance. He slipped in behind them and delicately swapped the flat cap he had stolen with the spiffy blue cap belonging to a boy at the rear of the line. It was done so quickly and so smoothly that the boy didn’t notice. Tom jostled in between the children, slipping a scarf from the shoulders of one and draping it around his neck, then merged among their number as they passed through the ticket barriers.

Reaching the platform, Tom began to gently drift away among the milling throng of commuters waiting for the train, his new hat pulled down over his eyes, the scarf wrapped tight around his face. Just behind them, he saw his other pursuer push his way onto the platform and shove his way through the crowd. An expression of triumph on his gnarled features, the snatcher reached out and grabbed ahold of the boy in the flat cap, a look of utter bemusement falling across his features when he realized the child was in school uniform—a look which then turned to panic as the children’s teacher began to beat him away with an umbrella.

Tom, grinning, slunk back into the crowd.\"},{\"id\":\"114938623T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"Chapter One: Sleight of Hand and Foot Chapter One SLEIGHT OF HAND AND FOOT
It was a crisp autumn morning and Tom Morgan was sitting on a stool on the roadside just outside Fermian’s Café on Rue Notre—Dame—which had once been known as Oxford Street—the sun shining brightly and adding a welcome warmth to the cool air. Cabs, motor cars, and buses rattled over the cobbles in either direction, and the branches of the cork trees, brought there by the French thirty years earlier, swayed gently overhead, casting flickering silhouettes on the smooth gray stone of the buildings across the street.

The scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries drifted tantalizingly—agonizingly—from the open doors of Fermian’s, accompanied by the gentle sounds of a jazz record on the gramophone by the bar and the chink of cups and saucers.

Just a few doors down the street, Tom could see Maxine and Bernie unfolding a portable table.

“Magic ball trick!” Maxine began to call out to passersby. “Stop and see a magic ball trick! Guess which cup it’s under and double your money!”

A thickset man with a dark beard appeared beside Tom and gave one of the legs of his stool a nudge with the toe of a hobnail boot.

“How much for a shine?” he asked.

Tom glanced warily up at the man’s face, scanning his features to check whether he knew him. There was always a risk that he could be a policeman, a workhouse agent, or worst of all, a previous mark. But the tanned face behind the dark beard wasn’t one Tom recognized, so he relaxed and looked down at the boots, which were badly scuffed and well worn. Tom puffed his cheeks and then sucked his teeth in ponderous thought. “Quite a bit of work to do there, mister,” he said at last. “But I should be able to get them up to scratch for three francs.”

“See what you can do for two,” said the man, and he tossed the coins into the upturned hat lying by Tom’s feet.

“Right you are, sir,” said Tom, and slapped a polishing cloth on the box in front of him, just as his old friend and mentor Morris used to do. The man rested his left boot on it. Tom flipped open a toolbox beside the stool and lifted out a dog—eared copy of The Count of Monte Cristo, underneath which he kept every item a shoeshiner could ever need, and got to work.

The man pulled a newspaper from his coat pocket and began to read, humming along absently to the music coming from Fermian’s. Tom let his mind wander as he scrubbed the dirt from the cracks in the leather. Then he reached into the toolbox and withdrew two tins of polish. “Which color you after, mister?” he asked.

The man pulled back a corner of the paper and looked down. “The darker one,” he said, then went back to reading, leaving Tom staring up at a front—page headline: TREASURE FOR THE AGES GOES ON TOUR followed by the subheading THE ANCIENT BURIAL HOARD OF SARGON THE GREAT OF MESOPOTAMIA BEGINS WORLD TOUR. Intrigued, Tom scanned the opening lines of the article while unscrewing the lid of the polish and dabbing a cloth into the oily glop within.

The long—lost treasure of the twenty—fourth and twenty—third century BC Mesopotamian ruler, Sargon the Great, discovered just three years ago by archaeologists from the University of New Avignon, begins its world tour tomorrow with a grand opening at the British Museum. The treasure is on loan from its permanent home at the Metropolitan Museum of New Avignon for nine months and will travel to seven different museums around the world. Tickets to the London exhibition have been sold out for more than a year.

The hoard, one of the largest ever discovered at a single burial site, is of significant historical importance as the runes and hieroglyphs that adorn many of the items reveal new information about Mesopotamian society, culture, and politics that had been previously unknown to historians.

He turned back to the boots, massaging the oily polish into the leather and then beginning to buff it with a brush.

Somewhere down the road an exhaust backfired and a blue van rumbled past. The word “Guttknot” was etched in white on the flaking paint. Tom ducked his head low and tucked his arms in, trying to make himself as small as possible. After a few moments he risked a glance through the legs of passing pedestrians, but he couldn’t see the van. Then he realized he couldn’t hear it either. His hand paused its brushing. Was that a vehicle door closing? A sound followed that froze him. It was the clip, clip, clip of a metal—tipped staff striking the paving stones in time with its owner’s steps. Tom snapped his head up to see Cyril Borthwick, a workhouse agent, wandering toward them.

The shiny brass buckles of Borthwick’s uniform glinted in the morning sunshine, as did the silver globe on the top of his staff. Borthwick wasn’t a particularly tall man, but he was strong looking, with thick forearms, powerful shoulders, and a bull neck. A huge dark moustache drooped down below his jawline, and bushy whiskers spread across the edges of his cheeks and up to a ring of hair that circled a perfectly smooth crown.

Tom gave a shrill whistle. Maxine glanced up at Tom and then across to Borthwick. After a quick look of understanding, she gathered up her ball and cups, picked up the foldaway table, and grabbed Bernie by his jacket collar before dashing down a side alley.

“Nearly done, mister,” said Tom, attempting a grin that felt as thin as paper. He was a rat caught in a trap. He had to think fast.

Tom kept his head down and concentrated on buffing the boots. They were now shining brilliantly, but still he kept the polishing cloth gliding back and forth as the shrill tapping of Borthwick’s staff grew louder.

The bearded man looked up from his paper. “Can I help?” he asked gruffly.

“Good morning,” said Borthwick. He offered a grin, but it was little more than a baring of his teeth. One of his top front ones was missing. “Cyril Borthwick. I am a constable of this parish.”

Tom’s jaw tightened. A constable. That might be his official title, but Tom knew what Borthwick really was. A child—snatcher. A slaver. A killer. His eyes darted around, his mind whirring as he tried to judge the best moment to make a break for it.

The bearded man eyed Borthwick up and down and then gazed at the ornate silver globe at the top of the mace.

“A church constable, I presume? Not an actual officer of the law?”

Borthwick’s face stiffened, but then another toothy smile filled the small void beneath his moustache. “Indeed so. But to my parishioners, I am one and the same. A protector, a servant, a hand that keeps the peace and upholds the law.”

“Uh—huh. And how may I help you, Mr. Borthwick? I am neither of this parish, nor, I believe, in contravention of any of its by—laws.”

“Oh, my dear sir, it is not you for whom I stop. Indeed, I welcome you to our little corner of this great city and wish you well on this fine day.” Borthwick indicated Tom with the tip of his staff. “It’s this lad here I want. As one of the guardians of this community, I have been charged by the church elders, and their parishioners, to help the young and helpless in our community find new opportunities and purpose in their lives. The young and helpless like this lad here.”

The bearded man peered down at Tom. “He doesn’t look helpless to me. Making a way for himself in the world.”

“Ah, but he’s homeless and vulnerable.”

The bearded man folded his paper away and looked down at Tom. “You homeless, lad?”

Tom was about to answer, but Borthwick spoke first. “With respect, sir, I am quite au fait—”

“Nonsense. He’s performing a trade,” interrupted the bearded man. “A good little job. Practical. You’re still allowed to practice trades, aren’t you, Mr. Borthwick?”

“Yes, yes, indeed you are,” said Borthwick, beginning to get flustered. “But my job is to clean up the streets—”

“Ah, I see. So that’s it. The boy’s an eyesore that your parishioners don’t want on their picturesque streets?”

Borthwick’s tongue flicked in and out. “No, I didn’t say that. I’m here to offer him an opportunity. A roof over his head, regular meals, and a job that helps serve our society.”

The bearded man barked a laugh. “Oh, so that’s how they’re selling workhouse slavery now, is it?” He turned so that he was facing Borthwick square on, moving between Tom and the workhouse agent, his long coat sweeping around to obscure the boy from sight. Tom looked up to see that the man had crossed his hands behind his back. The forefinger of one hand extended and started to jab toward an alleyway that ran down the side of Fermian’s.

“Do you know what the true blight on this city is, Mr. Borthwick?” said the man, now stabbing the forefinger of his other hand into Borthwick’s fleshy abdomen. “It’s people like you, hiding under the guise of social justice when...”

As quickly and as quietly as he could, Tom wrapped his hat around the coins and then crammed them into his pocket and grabbed the toolbox just as the bearded man cried, “Take your hands off me, sir!”

He looked up to see the two men scuffling.

“You will move along!” roared Borthwick. “That boy is coming with me!”

The bearded man staggered backward, then regained his balance by grabbing Borthwick’s lapels, tugging them down, and forcing the agent into a crouch. As he did so, he spun to stare at Tom. “Get going, boy!” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Or it’ll be the workhouse for you!”

Tom was up and off, sprinting down the alleyway that curved around the back of Fermian’s and into a network of dank and narrow lanes beyond. Behind him he could hear Borthwick roaring and then footsteps running his way. Tom glanced back to see two other snatchers had emerged from the van and were pursuing him.

He bent his head and ran harder, ducking right and then right again down narrow alleys until he burst back onto Rue Notre—Dame. His best chance of escape was in the chaos of the busiest streets. He zigzagged, sidestepped, and pirouetted his way through the crowds, reaching up and plucking a flat cap from a passerby and jamming it onto his head. He skipped past a stall selling flowers, grabbing one of the handles and spinning the stall on its wheels. He could hear one of his pursuers swearing as he collided with the stall and was sent tumbling to the ground.

As they approached Bond Street metro station Tom saw a gaggle of smartly dressed schoolchildren marching in neat lines down the steps to the entrance. He slipped in behind them and delicately swapped the flat cap he had stolen with the spiffy blue cap belonging to a boy at the rear of the line. It was done so quickly and so smoothly that the boy didn’t notice. Tom jostled in between the children, slipping a scarf from the shoulders of one and draping it around his neck, then merged among their number as they passed through the ticket barriers.

Reaching the platform, Tom began to gently drift away among the milling throng of commuters waiting for the train, his new hat pulled down over his eyes, the scarf wrapped tight around his face. Just behind them, he saw his other pursuer push his way onto the platform and shove his way through the crowd. An expression of triumph on his gnarled features, the snatcher reached out and grabbed ahold of the boy in the flat cap, a look of utter bemusement falling across his features when he realized the child was in school uniform—a look which then turned to panic as the children’s teacher began to beat him away with an umbrella.

Tom, grinning, slunk back into the crowd.
\"},{\"id\":\"132604499T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"\\\"Tom Morgan is exactly the kind of hero you want to follow into trouble. This series is fast-paced, brilliantly plotted and full of heart-pounding action. [The School for Thieves series] promises exhilarating adventures and endless surprises.\\\"--A. F. Steadman, author of the Skandar series

\\\"A mix of Dickensian atmosphere, Bond-like stunts and boarding school rivalries, this is a must for Harry Potter or Percy Jackson fans.\\\"--The Daily Mail \\\"06/27/2025\\\"

\\\"Brimming with adventures, daring missions, and fierce friendships, this fast-paced story will keep fans of Stephen Gibbs's Spy School and other spy thrillers gripped and hungry for the next installment.\\\"--School Library Journal \\\"7/11/25\\\"

\\\"Clever and gripping, this fast-paced boarding school story will appeal to fans of the Mysterious Benedict Society and Spy School series. A thrilling first installment in an adventurous new series.\\\"--Kirkus Reviews \\\"6/1/2025\\\"

\\\"In his children's debut, Burns deploys propulsive pacing and action-packed plotting to spin a page-turning, edge-of-the-seat adventure. Meticulously unraveled secrets and personable characters will have readers clamoring for the next volume of this enthralling series starter.\\\"--Publisher's Weekly STARRED REVIEW \\\"6/2/2025\\\"

\\\"Morgan leads readers on a fast-paced journey of jewelry heists and boarding school brawls, delivering a dabbling of dark academia to the middle-grade audience.\\\"--Booklist \\\"07/01/2025\\\"

\\\"This high-octane, fast-paced debut will be impossible to put down, especially for 9+ Skandar fans\\\"--The Guardian\"},{\"id\":\"119158608T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"\\\"Tom Morgan is exactly the kind of hero you want to follow into trouble. This series is fast-paced, brilliantly plotted and full of heart-pounding action. [The School for Thieves series] promises exhilarating adventures and endless surprises.\\\"— A. F. Steadman, author of the Skandar series

\\\"Brimming with adventures, daring missions, and fierce friendships, this fast-paced story will keep fans of Stephen Gibbs's Spy School and other spy thrillers gripped and hungry for the next installment.\\\"— School Library Journal 7/11/25

\\\"This high-octane, fast-paced debut will be impossible to put down, especially for 9+ Skandar fans\\\"— The Guardian

\\\"A mix of Dickensian atmosphere, Bond-like stunts and boarding school rivalries, this is a must for Harry Potter or Percy Jackson fans.\\\"— The Daily Mail 06/27/2025

\\\"Morgan leads readers on a fast-paced journey of jewelry heists and boarding school brawls, delivering a dabbling of dark academia to the middle-grade audience.\\\"— Booklist 07/01/2025

\\\"In his children’s debut, Burns deploys propulsive pacing and action-packed plotting to spin a page-turning, edge-of-the-seat adventure. Meticulously unraveled secrets and personable characters will have readers clamoring for the next volume of this enthralling series starter.\\\"— Publisher's Weekly STARRED REVIEW 6/2/2025

\\\"Clever and gripping, this fast-paced boarding school story will appeal to fans of the Mysterious Benedict Society and Spy School series. A thrilling first installment in an adventurous new series.\\\"— Kirkus Reviews 6/1/2025

\\\"Dark, daring and delightful, The School for Thieves is packed with spectacular heists, stylish cons and breathtaking set-pieces. This unputdownable new fantasy is conjured with immense imagination and verve. A brilliant achievement and a thrilling read.\\\"— Jonathan Stroud, author of the Bartimaeus series\"},{\"id\":\"113983033T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

A resourceful young pickpocket named Tom is invited to a prestigious boarding school of thievery and tricks in the snowy Alps. But nothing is as it seems in the Shadow League as Tom races to uncover its dark secrets in this edge-of-your-seat adventure.

\"},{\"id\":\"124106360T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Peter Burns is the author of ten critically acclaimed nonfiction sports books and has been nominated for numerous awards—twice for the prestigious William Hill Sports Book of the Year. The truth, however, is that he’s always wanted to write children’s books, so The School for Thieves is a dream come true. Peter studied English at the University of St Andrews before gaining a master’s in publishing at Napier University. He lives in Edinburgh with his wife, four kids, and a slightly nervous cocker spaniel. He isn’t a thief, a spy, an assassin, or a politico. Or is he? Visit him at PeterBurnsAuthor.com.

\"},{\"id\":\"119158609T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

\"},{\"id\":\"110652745T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"Peter Burns is the author of ten critically acclaimed nonfiction sports books and has been nominated for numerous awards—twice for the prestigious William Hill Sports Book of the Year. The truth, however, is that he’s always wanted to write children’s books, so The School for Thieves is a dream come true. Peter studied English at the University of St Andrews before gaining a master’s in publishing at Napier University. He lives in Edinburgh with his wife, four kids, and a slightly nervous cocker spaniel. He isn’t a thief, a spy, an assassin, or a politico. Or is he? Visit him at PeterBurnsAuthor.com.\"},{\"id\":\"111352343T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"Peter Burns is the author of ten critically acclaimed nonfiction sports books and has been nominated for numerous awards--twice for the prestigious William Hill Sports Book of the Year. The truth, however, is that he's always wanted to write children's books, so The School for Thieves is a dream come true. Peter studied English at the University of St Andrews before gaining a master's in publishing at Napier University. He lives in Edinburgh with his wife, four kids, and a slightly nervous cocker spaniel. He isn't a thief, a spy, an assassin, or a politico. Or is he? Visit him at PeterBurnsAuthor.com.\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/76872197800177","121","gid://shopify/Metafield/76872195670257","gid://shopify/Metafield/76872197669105","gid://shopify/Metafield/76872197079281","gid://shopify/Metafield/76872196915441","gid://shopify/Metafield/76872196391153","[{\"contributorId\":203166,\"fullName\":\"Peter Burns\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",[6347],{"_148":6348,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":-5,"_3716":6349,"_5881":6350,"_5883":6351,"_5885":6352,"_5887":6298,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47822639694065",{"_148":6355,"_144":6356,"_5898":-5,"_3989":6357,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":6354,"_5894":5895},{"_76":6297,"_41":6298},[6353],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"9.99","gid://shopify/ProductImage/48769403748593","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781665982290_p0.jpg?v=1776782286",1323,{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6354,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/9468281454833","This Is a Door","9781464246029","A groundbreaking hero's journey from National Book Award and Newbery Honor winner, Daniel Nayeri! A young boy, a mouse, and a dog set out to find their purpose in this fairy tale adventure told in an innovative visual format that offers a one-of-a-kind reading experience.This is the tale of a boy named Nothing the Younger, who lives in a city on the mountaintop of a far-off and long-lost country. Everyone calls him Ing, and while he has no parents, he does have two friends: a dog, Pöppy, and a mouse, mOmO. When King Cyrus calls for a hero to find and defeat the Giantess ravaging the countryside, the king's son, the Wander Prince, answers the call and Ing decides to follow. Along the journey, Ing (and his friends) must traverse the Land of the Dead, survive an encounter with the terrifying wimmelworm, and discover the truth of his mother and father . . . so that he may find what he's been seeking all along—his best purpose.The text on each page snakes, climbs, jumps, and explodes into shapes and forms that unravel the story. This Is a Door is full of fun surprises and poignant musings that flip the classic hero's journey on its head—all in an artistic and inventive package that is a wonder to behold.","

A groundbreaking hero's journey from National Book Award and Newbery Honor winner, Daniel Nayeri! A young boy, a mouse, and a dog set out to find their purpose in this fairy tale adventure told in an innovative visual format that offers a one-of-a-kind reading experience.

This is the tale of a boy named Nothing the Younger, who lives in a city on the mountaintop of a far-off and long-lost country. Everyone calls him Ing, and while he has no parents, he does have two friends: a dog, Pöppy, and a mouse, mOmO. When King Cyrus calls for a hero to find and defeat the Giantess ravaging the countryside, the king's son, the Wander Prince, answers the call and Ing decides to follow. Along the journey, Ing (and his friends) must traverse the Land of the Dead, survive an encounter with the terrifying wimmelworm, and discover the truth of his mother and father . . . so that he may find what he's been seeking all along—his best purpose.

The text on each page snakes, climbs, jumps, and explodes into shapes and forms that unravel the story. This Is a Door is full of fun surprises and poignant musings that flip the classic hero's journey on its head—all in an artistic and inventive package that is a wonder to behold.

",{"_148":6413,"_144":6414,"_3989":6415,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":6418},{"_5902":6416,"_5904":6417},{"_5873":6405},{"_5838":6392},{"_5838":6363},{"_5838":5797},[6374,-5,-5,6375,6376,-5,6377,6378,6379,6380,6381,-5,6382,6383,-5,6384,6385,6386],{"_148":6403,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":6404},{"_148":6402,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6401,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6400,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":6398,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":6399},{"_148":6396,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":6397},{"_148":6394,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":6395},{"_148":6393,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":6391,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":6392},{"_148":6390,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":6363},{"_148":6389,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":6388,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":5935},{"_148":6387,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":6054},"gid://shopify/Metafield/86807746183409","gid://shopify/Metafield/86807746216177","gid://shopify/Metafield/76218438942961","gid://shopify/Metafield/76218437042417","gid://shopify/Metafield/76218439434481","[\"Barnes & Noble @ School (p310)\",\"Frankenkitty Only $9.99 With Purchase of Any Kids' Book (p1237)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Beautiful Gift Books for Kids (p10518)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/76218438844657","gid://shopify/Metafield/76218438254833","1149389014","gid://shopify/Metafield/76218439172337","This-Is-a-Door/Daniel-Nayeri","gid://shopify/Metafield/76695291658481","[{\"id\":\"129879328T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"\\\"Loyal, kindhearted characters navigate complex emotions with grace, while fizzes of gentle humor keep the tone light. It’s a visually stunning and remarkably innovative tale.\\\" —Publishers Weekly, STARRED review

\\\"Engaging, pensive, quirky: A portal that shows the transformative powers of creative thinking and life experiences.\\\" —Kirkus Reviews, STARRED review

\\\"Plenty of liveliness for both eye and mind.\\\" —Horn Book, STARRED review

\\\"A visually captivating tale for readers of fairy tales, fantasy adventure, and concrete poetry.\\\" —School Library Journal, STARRED review

\\\"Every now and then a special book comes along that is delightfully different and memorable, and This Is a Door by Daniel Nayeri is one of them... This Is a Door marks yet another of Nayeri's virtuoso performances, offering wisdom and wonder for all.\\\" —BookPage, STARRED review

\\\"While the story is well-told and satisfying, the standout element is the method of telling it, as Nayeri sets both pace and tone for the reader with a creative artistry.\\\" —Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books, STARRED review

\\\"A wonderfully creative endeavor … shows readers how to bend ideas and make them their own.\\\" —Booklist\"},{\"id\":\"131311498T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"\\\"While the story is well-told and satisfying, the standout element is the method of telling it, as Nayeri sets both pace and tone for the reader with a creative artistry.\\\" --Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books, STARRED review

\\\"Every now and then a special book comes along that is delightfully different and memorable, and This Is a Door by Daniel Nayeri is one of them... This Is a Door marks yet another of Nayeri's virtuoso performances, offering wisdom and wonder for all.\\\" --BookPage, STARRED review

\\\"A wonderfully creative endeavor ... shows readers how to bend ideas and make them their own.\\\" --Booklist

\\\"A visually captivating tale for readers of fairy tales, fantasy adventure, and concrete poetry.\\\" --School Library Journal, STARRED review

\\\"Plenty of liveliness for both eye and mind.\\\" --Horn Book, STARRED review

\\\"Loyal, kindhearted characters navigate complex emotions with grace, while fizzes of gentle humor keep the tone light. It's a visually stunning and remarkably innovative tale.\\\" --Publishers Weekly, STARRED review

\\\"Engaging, pensive, quirky: A portal that shows the transformative powers of creative thinking and life experiences.\\\" --Kirkus Reviews, STARRED review\"},{\"id\":\"132229214T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

A boy, a dog and a mouse set out on an unforgettable and terrifying adventure in this uniquely crafted tale of identity, belonging and the bonds that bring us home.

\"},{\"id\":\"127245454T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

DANIEL NAYERI was born in Iran and spent some years as a refugee before immigrating to Oklahoma at age seven with his family. He is the author of several books, including Everything Sad is Untrue (A True Story), winner of the Michael L. Printz Award, the Christopher Medal, and the Middle Eastern Book Award, The Many Assassinations of Samir, the Seller of Dreams, winner of the Newbery Honor, and The Teacher of Nomad Land, winner of the National Book Award. He lives in the U.S. with his wife and son.

\"},{\"id\":\"123855965T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"DANIEL NAYERI was born in Iran and spent some years as a refugee before immigrating to Oklahoma at age seven with his family. He is the author of several books, including Everything Sad is Untrue (A True Story), winner of the Michael L. Printz Award, the Christopher Medal, and the Middle Eastern Book Award, The Many Assassinations of Samir, the Seller of Dreams, winner of the Newbery Honor, and The Teacher of Nomad Land, winner of the National Book Award. He lives in the U.S. with his wife and son.

\"},{\"id\":\"131344396T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/76218438910193","gid://shopify/Metafield/76218438385905","gid://shopify/Metafield/76218438877425","gid://shopify/Metafield/76218438680817","[{\"contributorId\":10596767,\"fullName\":\"Daniel Nayeri\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",[6406],{"_148":6407,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":-5,"_3716":6408,"_5881":6409,"_5883":6410,"_5885":6411,"_5887":6363,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47775737839857",{"_148":6413,"_144":6414,"_5898":-5,"_3989":6415,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":5901,"_5894":5895},{"_76":6362,"_41":6363},[6412],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/48912546431217","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781464246029_p0.jpg?v=1773271171",1592,{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":5901,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/8875289772273","The Unlikely Tale of Chase and Finnegan","9781250387189","New York Times, USA Today, and Indie Bestseller!Read With Jenna Jr. Pick\"This book! It stole my heart. Chase and Finnegan have the kind of friendship we all need.\" —Barbara O'Connor, New York Times bestselling author of WishFrom the Newbery Honor-winning and #1 New York Times bestselling author of A Rover's Story comes the deeply moving story of a cheetah who forms a friendship with a rescue dog—a bond that will change their lives forever. The Ideal read for fans of Katherine Applegate.Finnegan is a rescue dog with a broken heart.Chase is a newly orphaned cheetah cub.The two animals couldn't be more different. But one day, they are brought together for the unlikeliest of reasons: Finnegan must help Chase gain the confidence she needs to perform as part of an educational program for children at a zoo.Finnegan and Chase have each suffered losses and have trouble trusting. Yet somehow, they are just what the other needs. But if Finnegan isn’t able to help Chase overcome her fears, he won’t just be letting Chase down—he could be risking his new home as well.Inspired by true stories from zoos across the country, award-winning author Jasmine Warga creates a heartwarming tale about how the power of friendship can transcend anything—even species.\"Utterly transporting. This book is all heart, and masterfully imagines the internal lives of two unlikely animal friends.\" —Eliot Schrefer, author of Endangered, a National Book Award Finalist\"Meet your new favorite animal story. Profoundly moving and vibrating with heart—this book will sit comfortably among the greats. Chase and Finnegan will stay with me for a long time. I loved it.\" —Tae Keller, Newbery Medal-winning author of When You Trap a Tiger\"Jasmine Warga's brilliant and heartfelt storytelling made my heart soar. While spending time with Chase and Finnegan, words like friendship, family, connection, love, light, and joy kept racing through my mind. Most of all, the story filled me with HOPE!\" —John Schu, librarian and New York Times best-selling author of Louder Than Hunger","

New York Times, USA Today, and Indie Bestseller!
Read With Jenna Jr. Pick

\"This book! It stole my heart. Chase and Finnegan have the kind of friendship we all need.\" —Barbara O'Connor, New York Times bestselling author of Wish

From the Newbery Honor-winning and #1 New York Times bestselling author of A Rover's Story comes the deeply moving story of a cheetah who forms a friendship with a rescue dog—a bond that will change their lives forever. The Ideal read for fans of Katherine Applegate.

Finnegan is a rescue dog with a broken heart.
Chase is a newly orphaned cheetah cub.

The two animals couldn't be more different. But one day, they are brought together for the unlikeliest of reasons: Finnegan must help Chase gain the confidence she needs to perform as part of an educational program for children at a zoo.

Finnegan and Chase have each suffered losses and have trouble trusting. Yet somehow, they are just what the other needs. But if Finnegan isn’t able to help Chase overcome her fears, he won’t just be letting Chase down—he could be risking his new home as well.

Inspired by true stories from zoos across the country, award-winning author Jasmine Warga creates a heartwarming tale about how the power of friendship can transcend anything—even species.

\"Utterly transporting. This book is all heart, and masterfully imagines the internal lives of two unlikely animal friends.\" —Eliot Schrefer, author of Endangered, a National Book Award Finalist

\"Meet your new favorite animal story. Profoundly moving and vibrating with heart—this book will sit comfortably among the greats. Chase and Finnegan will stay with me for a long time. I loved it.\" —Tae Keller, Newbery Medal-winning author of When You Trap a Tiger

\"Jasmine Warga's brilliant and heartfelt storytelling made my heart soar. While spending time with Chase and Finnegan, words like friendship, family, connection, love, light, and joy kept racing through my mind. Most of all, the story filled me with HOPE!\" —John Schu, librarian and New York Times best-selling author of Louder Than Hunger

",{"_148":6479,"_144":6480,"_3989":6481,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":6484},{"_5902":6482,"_5904":6483},{"_5873":6470},{"_5838":6454},{"_5838":6421},{"_5838":5797},[6432,6433,6434,6435,6436,-5,6437,6438,6439,6440,6441,-5,6442,6443,-5,6444,6445,6446],{"_148":6468,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":6469},{"_148":6466,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5868,"_5838":6467},{"_148":6465,"_5834":5843,"_5836":6207,"_5838":3788},{"_148":6464,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6463,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6462,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":6460,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":6461},{"_148":6458,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":6459},{"_148":6456,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":6457},{"_148":6455,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":6453,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":6454},{"_148":6452,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":6421},{"_148":6451,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":6449,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":6450},{"_148":6447,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":6448},"gid://shopify/Metafield/79078955581681","13","gid://shopify/Metafield/79078955614449","{\"scale_min\":\"1.0\",\"scale_max\":\"5.0\",\"value\":\"4.9\"}","gid://shopify/Metafield/41050278494449","gid://shopify/Metafield/41050272366833","gid://shopify/Metafield/41050280558833","[\"BADGE - $3 OFF (p7877)\",\"B|$3 Off|#DD2A27|#701F15 (p7847)\",\"Barnes & Noble @ School (p310)\",\"The Most Anticipated Books of 2026 (p10335)\",\"Frankenkitty Only $9.99 With Purchase of Any Kids' Book (p1237)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\",\"Spring into Reading (p5839)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/41050278035697","gid://shopify/Metafield/41050276593905","1147007139","gid://shopify/Metafield/41050279575793","The-Unlikely-Tale-of-Chase-and-Finnegan/Jasmine-Warga","gid://shopify/Metafield/41050280329457","[{\"id\":\"114665032T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

\\\"Ms. Warga...is a versatile and engaging writer who immerses readers in the sensory experience of life through Finn’s and Chase’s eyes. Finn’s hyperactive sense of smell and bottomless appetite provide lighthearted comic relief, while the descriptions of Chase running are some of the book’s loveliest passages.\\\" —The Wall Street Journal

\\\"Animal lovers and readers who appreciate emotional narratives will delight in this ultimately hopeful middle-grade novel inspired by true stories of cheetahs and dogs in zoos across the globe.\\\" —Shelf Awareness (starred review)

\\\"An endearing, deeply moving story of healing.\\\" —Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

\\\"In this moving tale of animal friendship and found family...Warga offers an accessible point of entry for curious animal lovers, culminating in a compassionate work that additionally addresses issues of anxiety and trauma.\\\" —Publishers Weekly

\\\"An uplifting and heartwarming story about friendship and the way it can change lives for creatures great and small; sure to leave an impact long after the last page. Hand to fans of Katherine Applegate’s One and Only and Rosanne Parry’s Voice of the Wilderness series.\\\" —School Library Journal (starred review)

\\\"Warga’s heartwarming latest finds inspiration in true events. The sweet depiction of meeting someone new is sure to resonate.\\\" —Booklist

\\\"Anxious kiddos will see themselves in both characters and, like Chase and Finnegan, find themselves a little less alone.\\\" —Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books

\\\"This book! It stole my heart, broke my heart, and warmed my heart. Chase and Finnegan have the kind of friendship we all need.\\\" —Barbara O'Connor, New York Times bestselling author of Wish

\\\"Utterly transporting. This book is all heart, and masterfully imagines the internal lives of two unlikely animal friends.\\\" —Eliot Schrefer, author of Endangered, a National Book Award Finalist

\\\"Jasmine Warga's brilliant and heartfelt storytelling made my heart soar. While spending time with Chase and Finnegan, words like friendship, family, connection, love, light, and joy kept racing through my mind. Most of all, the story filled me with HOPE!\\\" —John Schu, librarian and New York Times best-selling author of Louder Than Hunger

\\\"Meet your new favorite animal story. Profoundly moving and vibrating with heart—this book will sit comfortably among the greats. Chase and Finnegan will stay with me for a long time. I loved it.\\\" —Tae Keller, Newbery Medal-winning author of When You Trap a Tiger

\"},{\"id\":\"120667868T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Two unlikely animals become furry friends in this heartwarming story of connection that is inspired by true animal stories from zoos across the country.

\"},{\"id\":\"132849514T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Two unlikely animals become furry friends in this heartwarming story of connection that is inspired by true animal stories from zoos across the country.

\"},{\"id\":\"114665033T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Jasmine Warga is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of A Rover’s Story, The Shape of Thunder, and A Strange Thing Happened in Cherry Hall. Her book Other Words for Home received a Newbery Honor and Walter Honor, among numerous other awards. Here We Are Now and My Heart and Other Black Holes, her novels for teens, have been translated into over twenty-five languages. She lives in the Chicago area with her family.

\"},{\"id\":\"132849518T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

Jasmine Warga is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of A Rover's Story, The Shape of Thunder, and A Strange Thing Happened in Cherry Hall. Her book Other Words for Home received a Newbery Honor and Walter Honor, among numerous other awards. Here We Are Now and My Heart and Other Black Holes, her novels for teens, have been translated into over twenty-five languages. She lives in the Chicago area with her family.

\"},{\"id\":\"111211817T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"Jasmine Warga is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Unlikely Tale of Chase and Finnegan, A Rover’s Story, The Shape of Thunder, and A Strange Thing Happened in Cherry Hall. Her book Other Words for Home received a Newbery Honor and Walter Honor, among numerous other awards. Here We Are Now and My Heart and Other Black Holes, her novels for teens, have been translated into over twenty-five languages. She lives in the Chicago area with her family.\"},{\"id\":\"130129343T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"

\"},{\"id\":\"130704286T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"5\",\"text\":\"

\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/41050278330609","gid://shopify/Metafield/41050276888817","gid://shopify/Metafield/41050278166769","gid://shopify/Metafield/92831185567985","gid://shopify/Metafield/92831185600753","Chase and Finnegan","gid://shopify/Metafield/41050277347569","[{\"contributorId\":16738886,\"fullName\":\"Jasmine Warga\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",[6471],{"_148":6472,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":6473,"_3716":6474,"_5881":6475,"_5883":6476,"_5885":6477,"_5887":6421,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46276298539249",{"_5892":6080,"_5894":5895},{"_148":6479,"_144":6480,"_5898":-5,"_3989":6481,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":6227,"_5894":5895},{"_76":6420,"_41":6421},[6478],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/47613029974257","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781250387189_p0.jpg?v=1768985757",1294,{"_5892":6080,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6080,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6227,"_5894":5895},"ba4dc568dfc7",{"_4767":6488,"_119":120,"_56":4939,"_61":4940,"_345":-5,"_144":6489},"The Best History Books of 2026",[6491,6492,6493,6494,6495],{"_48":139,"_143":10,"_144":6490},"https://www.barnesandnoble.com/blog/the-best-history-books-of-2026",{"_5792":5793,"_148":6736,"_76":6737,"_5796":5797,"_41":6738,"_53":6739,"_5800":6740,"_5802":6741,"_5804":6742,"_5806":17,"_5807":6743,"_5809":6744,"_79":6745,"_5812":6746,"_5814":6747,"_5816":-5,"_5817":6748},{"_5792":5793,"_148":6675,"_76":6676,"_5796":5797,"_41":6677,"_53":6678,"_5800":6679,"_5802":6680,"_5804":6681,"_5806":17,"_5807":6682,"_5809":6683,"_79":6684,"_5812":6685,"_5814":6686,"_5816":-5,"_5817":6687},{"_5792":5793,"_148":6615,"_76":6616,"_5796":5797,"_41":6617,"_53":6618,"_5800":6619,"_5802":6620,"_5804":6621,"_5806":17,"_5807":6622,"_5809":6623,"_79":6624,"_5812":6625,"_5814":6626,"_5816":-5,"_5817":6627},{"_5792":5793,"_148":6557,"_76":6558,"_5796":5797,"_41":6559,"_53":6560,"_5800":6561,"_5802":6562,"_5804":6563,"_5806":17,"_5807":6564,"_5809":6565,"_79":6566,"_5812":6567,"_5814":6568,"_5816":-5,"_5817":6569},{"_5792":5793,"_148":6496,"_76":6497,"_5796":5797,"_41":6498,"_53":6499,"_5800":6500,"_5802":6501,"_5804":6502,"_5806":17,"_5807":6503,"_5809":6504,"_79":6505,"_5812":6506,"_5814":6507,"_5816":-5,"_5817":6508},"gid://shopify/Product/9151754240241","Ghosts of Sicily: The True Story of the Naval Intelligence Agents Who Courted the Mob to Fight Nazis in America and the Battlefields of Italy","9781400252985","INSTANT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER\"Absorbing history of an unlikely alliance.” - Kirkus ReviewsFrom the New York Times bestselling authors of Ghosts of Honolulu comes their most harrowing true story yet.It's 1942, and New York City is at war. German U-boats are sinking ships just miles offshore, and Washington, DC, is convinced that waterfront spies are providing intelligence targeting the ships. To thwart the threat, the Office of Naval Intelligence reaches out to those with the most sway along the waterfronts of Brooklyn and Manhattan – the mob. The result will be a triumph for the ONI and one of the most successful and controversial operations in the long history of what we now know as NCIS.The Navy’s alliance with Charles “Lucky” Luciano and his organization will send New Yorker Tony Marsloe and his fellow ONI officers on an international odyssey that includes holding secret meetings with legendary criminals, hunting clandestine spy rings operating on U.S. soil, and conducting daring undercover missions behind the bloody frontlines of the invasion of Italy.In addition to towering historic figures like Meyer Lansky and General George Patton, readers will encounter a kaleidoscope of agents and gangsters who not only shaped the war in Italy but the future of international crime itself..","INSTANT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
\"Absorbing history of an unlikely alliance.” - Kirkus Reviews

From the New York Times bestselling authors of Ghosts of Honolulu comes their most harrowing true story yet.

It's 1942, and New York City is at war. German U-boats are sinking ships just miles offshore, and Washington, DC, is convinced that waterfront spies are providing intelligence targeting the ships. To thwart the threat, the Office of Naval Intelligence reaches out to those with the most sway along the waterfronts of Brooklyn and Manhattan – the mob. The result will be a triumph for the ONI and one of the most successful and controversial operations in the long history of what we now know as NCIS.

The Navy’s alliance with Charles “Lucky” Luciano and his organization will send New Yorker Tony Marsloe and his fellow ONI officers on an international odyssey that includes holding secret meetings with legendary criminals, hunting clandestine spy rings operating on U.S. soil, and conducting daring undercover missions behind the bloody frontlines of the invasion of Italy.

In addition to towering historic figures like Meyer Lansky and General George Patton, readers will encounter a kaleidoscope of agents and gangsters who not only shaped the war in Italy but the future of international crime itself.

",{"_148":6550,"_144":6551,"_3989":6552,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":6556},{"_5902":6554,"_5904":6555},{"_5873":6540},{"_5838":6527},{"_5838":6498},{"_5838":5797},[6509,-5,-5,6510,6511,-5,6512,6513,6514,6515,6516,-5,6517,6518,-5,6519,6520,6521],{"_148":6538,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":6539},{"_148":6537,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6536,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6535,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":6533,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":6534},{"_148":6531,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":6532},{"_148":6529,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":6530},{"_148":6528,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":6526,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":6527},{"_148":6525,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":6498},{"_148":6524,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":6523,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":5935},{"_148":6522,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":3788},"gid://shopify/Metafield/60489202925809","gid://shopify/Metafield/60489202958577","gid://shopify/Metafield/54552245240049","gid://shopify/Metafield/54552240619761","gid://shopify/Metafield/75058473140465","[\"BADGE - $3 OFF (p7877)\",\"B|$3 Off|#DD2A27|#701F15 (p7847)\",\"BADGE - 10% OFF (p7873)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Top Books for Your Summer Reading List (p7187)\",\"Father's Day Gifts (p3895)\",\"Summer Reading (p5957)\",\"Recently Reviewed (p10276)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/54552244814065","gid://shopify/Metafield/54552243372273","1149147980","gid://shopify/Metafield/54552245797105","Ghosts-of-Sicily/Mark-Harmon","gid://shopify/Metafield/69966654701809","[{\"id\":\"125063463T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\" Kirkus Reviews\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"'Absorbing history of an unlikely alliance.'\"},{\"id\":\"124494926T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

World War II history comes alive in unexpected ways in another harrowing true tale from the authors of Ghosts of Honolulu and Ghosts of Panama. This time, the focus in on the daring agents who called for an unlikely ally against Nazis: The Italian mafia.

\"},{\"id\":\"121836947T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Mark Harmon starred as Leroy Jethro Gibbs on NCIS for eighteen seasons and also served as executive producer of the show. In other television work, Mark received an Emmy nomination for Outstanding Guest Actor in a Drama Series for the critically acclaimed The West Wing and for Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Drama Special for Eleanor and Franklin: The White House Years. Other credits include Reasonable Doubts, for which he received two Golden Globe nominations; Chicago Hope; From Earth to the Moon; St. Elsewhere; and Moonlighting.

Leon Carroll, Jr., a native of Chicago, Illinois, was a commissioned officer in the United States Marine Corps, attaining the rank of major. Leon then began a twenty-year career as a special agent with the Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS). He served in seven different locations, including tours as a Special Agent Afloat on the USS Ranger(CV-61) and as the Special Agent in Charge of NCIS offices in the Republic of Panama and the Pacific Northwest. Upon retirement from NCIS, Leon was selected to be the technical advisor for the top-rated drama of the same name, holding that position for twenty seasons.

\"},{\"id\":\"122154172T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Mark Harmon starred as Leroy Jethro Gibbs on NCIS and also served as executive producer of the show. On the new CBS series, NCIS: Origins which explores the early career of Gibbs, Harmon will serve as narrator in addition to executive producer. In other television work, Harmon received an Emmy nomination for Outstanding Guest Actor in a Drama Series for the critically acclaimed The West Wing and for Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Drama Special for Eleanor and Franklin: The White House Years. Other credits include Reasonable Doubts, for which he received two Golden Globe nominations, Chicago Hope, From Earth to the Moon, St. Elsewhere, and Moonlighting.

Leon Carroll, Jr. co—authored the New York Times bestseller Ghosts of Honolulu. He previously served as technical advisor on the hit drama NCIS for twenty—one seasons and is currently working on the new show NCIS: Origins. Previously, he was a commissioned officer in the United States Marine Corps, attaining the rank of Major. Leon then began a twenty—year career as a Special Agent with the Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS). He served in seven different locations, including tours as a Special Agent Afloat on the USS Ranger (CV—61) and as the Special Agent in Charge of NCIS offices in the Republic of Panama and the Pacific Northwest.

\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/54552245076209","gid://shopify/Metafield/54552243634417","gid://shopify/Metafield/54552244912369","gid://shopify/Metafield/54552244224241","[{\"contributorId\":2055551,\"fullName\":\"Mark Harmon\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1},{\"contributorId\":29591734,\"fullName\":\"Leon Carroll\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":2}]",[6541],{"_148":6542,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":6543,"_3716":6544,"_5881":6545,"_5883":6546,"_5885":6547,"_5887":6498,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46585219449073",{"_5892":6553,"_5894":5895},{"_148":6550,"_144":6551,"_5898":-5,"_3989":6552,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":6549,"_5894":5895},{"_76":6497,"_41":6498},[6548],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"26.99","gid://shopify/ProductImage/48411117224177","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781400252985_p0.jpg?v=1776504178",1308,"29.99",{"_5892":6553,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6553,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6549,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/9485576143089","Queens and Kings: An Unusually Personal History","9798897101825","\"Queens & Kings is history with a uniquely personal touch. Warm, insightful, and full of heart, Worsley has distilled a lifetime of personal experience into this crowning achievement of a book. Prepare yourself for a personal tour of the palace rooms with Britain's favorite historian.” —Hallie Rubenhold, bestselling author of The Five: The Untold Lives of the Women Killed by Jack the Ripper \"This dazzling book is full of brilliant detail, behind-the-scenes wit and humor, and a great tenderness for her subjects. All seen through the lens of Lucy Worsley's career working as Chief Curator at Hampton Court, her scholarship, passion for her subject and deep knowledge is lightly worn, this is history writing at its best.” —Kate Mosse, New York Times bestselling author A colorful journey through some of the most significant moments in British history, as seen through Lucy Worsley’s life and adventures as Chief Curator for Historic Royal Palaces.No one has lived and breathed the monarchy quite like Lucy Worsley. For over twenty years, she worked as Chief Curator in some of Britain's most splendid palaces—and now she is ready to throw open the doors and welcome us in. In Queens and Kings, Lucy takes us on a journey through some of our most turbulent and significant moments in history. From the Council Chamber in which Henry VIII decided to break from the pope to lunch with the late Queen Elizabeth II at Buckingham Palace, from encounters with the Tower of London's Ravenmaster to the depths of Queen Victoria's wardrobe, Lucy shares how she grew to know the queens and kings, courtiers and servants who lived in these buildings over the centuries. She traces their footsteps through the corridors and cloisters, the courtyards and kitchens and breathes new life into moments of great joy and consequence‚ as well as tales of intrigue which lurked in the shadows of regal splendor. Packed with new stories told from unexplored places, this is a fresh history of the monarchy.","\"Queens & Kings is history with a uniquely personal touch. Warm, insightful, and full of heart, Worsley has distilled a lifetime of personal experience into this crowning achievement of a book. Prepare yourself for a personal tour of the palace rooms with Britain's favorite historian.” —Hallie Rubenhold, bestselling author of The Five: The Untold Lives of the Women Killed by Jack the Ripper

\"This dazzling book is full of brilliant detail, behind-the-scenes wit and humor, and a great tenderness for her subjects. All seen through the lens of Lucy Worsley's career working as Chief Curator at Hampton Court, her scholarship, passion for her subject and deep knowledge is lightly worn, this is history writing at its best.” —Kate Mosse, New York Times bestselling author

A colorful journey through some of the most significant moments in British history, as seen through Lucy Worsley’s life and adventures as Chief Curator for Historic Royal Palaces.

No one has lived and breathed the monarchy quite like Lucy Worsley. For over twenty years, she worked as Chief Curator in some of Britain's most splendid palaces—and now she is ready to throw open the doors and welcome us in.

In Queens and Kings, Lucy takes us on a journey through some of our most turbulent and significant moments in history. From the Council Chamber in which Henry VIII decided to break from the pope to lunch with the late Queen Elizabeth II at Buckingham Palace, from encounters with the Tower of London's Ravenmaster to the depths of Queen Victoria's wardrobe, Lucy shares how she grew to know the queens and kings, courtiers and servants who lived in these buildings over the centuries.

She traces their footsteps through the corridors and cloisters, the courtyards and kitchens and breathes new life into moments of great joy and consequence‚ as well as tales of intrigue which lurked in the shadows of regal splendor. Packed with new stories told from unexplored places, this is a fresh history of the monarchy.",{"_148":6609,"_144":6610,"_3989":6611,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":6614},{"_5902":6612,"_5904":6613},{"_5873":6600},{"_5838":6587},{"_5838":6559},{"_5838":5797},[6570,-5,-5,6571,6572,-5,6573,6574,6575,6576,6577,-5,6578,6579,-5,6580,-5,6581],{"_148":6598,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":6599},{"_148":6597,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6596,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6595,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":6593,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":6594},{"_148":6591,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":6592},{"_148":6589,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":6590},{"_148":6588,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":6586,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":6587},{"_148":6585,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":6559},{"_148":6584,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":6582,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":6583},"gid://shopify/Metafield/196669153116401","0","gid://shopify/Metafield/76895598477553","gid://shopify/Metafield/76895597068529","gid://shopify/Metafield/78682524254449","[\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Recently Reviewed (p10276)\",\"Bonus $10 Reward on Our Favorite Books (p10710)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/76895598379249","gid://shopify/Metafield/76895598084337","1149543734","gid://shopify/Metafield/76895598739697","Queens-and-Kings/Lucy-Worsley","gid://shopify/Metafield/76895599001841","[{\"id\":\"124125540T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"“A political, social, and royal history, Worsley’s book is braided with personal anecdotes. Her lively account pushes against cinematic dramatizations, chasing through the archives as well as stalking the halls. Marriages and illnesses, human relations and foibles, clothing, and more provide a constant stream of engaging you-are-there vignettes—all animating history. A singular perspective on palace intrigue.”— Kirkus Reviews

Praise for Lucy Worsley’s Agatha Christie: An Elusive Woman:

“Agatha Christie was a modernist, an iconoclast, and a groundbreaker, according to this excellent biography from historian Worsley. Worsley offers close readings of Christie’s work and presents a careful reframe of the novelist’s famous 1926 disappearance. Drawing on personal letters and modern criticism, Worsley manages to make her subject feel fresh and new. This is a must-read for Christie fans.”— Publishers Weekly (starred review)

\\\"Lucy Worsley's biography of Agatha Christie is as unputdownable as any of the novels by the Queen of Crime herself. Gripping, revealing, and ultimately extremely moving, Agatha Christie is a wonderful tribute to one of the best-loved writers of the twentieth century.”— Amanda Foreman, New York Times bestselling author

\\\"In the best biography of Agatha Christie ever written, Lucy Worsley gets to the soul—the complex, troubled, but big soul—of our greatest whodunnit writer with laser-like precision. There will not now need to be another biography of the queen of the detective story written for decades.”— Andrew Roberts, New York Times bestselling author of Churchill: Walking with Destiny

\\\"Worsley comes up with another winner in this sprightly, endearing biography. Agatha Christie was elusive, Worsley argues, because she 'deliberately played upon the fact that she seemed so ordinary.' While building a devoted audience, she was also breaking new ground. With great affection, Worsley masterfully maneuvers her way through Christie’s life and prolific oeuvre.\\\"— Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

\\\"This is a warm, intelligent book that does justice both to Agatha Christie's character and to her distinctive genius as a writer of plays and novels. Someone once said that the greatest character Agatha Christie ever invented was Agatha Christie herself. If that's true, she was waiting for the perfect biographer to bring her back to life, and she has found her in Dr. Lucy Worsley.”— A. N. Wilson, author of The Mystery of Charles Dickens and Geothe: His Faustian Life

\\\"Lucy Worsley brings Agatha Christie back to life, revealing a strong, pioneering, highly intelligent woman whose detective novels rank among the best ever written. Reading Worsley is as enjoyable as reading Christie herself.”— Ruth Scurr, author of A Life Told in Gardens and Shadows

“Presenting Christie as living a ‘modern life,’ firmly in and ‘of her time’ is Dr. Worsley’s key aim: neither nostalgic nor part of the heritage industry. She succeeds brilliantly, for the Agatha Chirstie (woman and author) that emerges from this astute and, at times, justifiably compassionate book is anything but cosy.”— Country Life\"},{\"id\":\"132070346T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"\\\"A political, social, and royal history, Worsley's book is braided with personal anecdotes. Her lively account pushes against cinematic dramatizations, chasing through the archives as well as stalking the halls. Marriages and illnesses, human relations and foibles, clothing, and more provide a constant stream of engaging you-are-there vignettes--all animating history. A singular perspective on palace intrigue.\\\"--Kirkus Reviews

Praise for Lucy Worsley's Agatha Christie: An Elusive Woman:

\\\"Agatha Christie was a modernist, an iconoclast, and a groundbreaker, according to this excellent biography from historian Worsley. Worsley offers close readings of Christie's work and presents a careful reframe of the novelist's famous 1926 disappearance. Drawing on personal letters and modern criticism, Worsley manages to make her subject feel fresh and new. This is a must-read for Christie fans.\\\"-- \\\"Publishers Weekly (starred review)\\\"

\\\"In the best biography of Agatha Christie ever written, Lucy Worsley gets to the soul--the complex, troubled, but big soul--of our greatest whodunnit writer with laser-like precision. There will not now need to be another biography of the queen of the detective story written for decades.\\\"--Andrew Roberts, New York Times bestselling author of Churchill: Walking with Destiny

\\\"Lucy Worsley brings Agatha Christie back to life, revealing a strong, pioneering, highly intelligent woman whose detective novels rank among the best ever written. Reading Worsley is as enjoyable as reading Christie herself.\\\"--Ruth Scurr, author of A Life Told in Gardens and Shadows

\\\"Lucy Worsley's biography of Agatha Christie is as unputdownable as any of the novels by the Queen of Crime herself. Gripping, revealing, and ultimately extremely moving, Agatha Christie is a wonderful tribute to one of the best-loved writers of the twentieth century.\\\"--Amanda Foreman, New York Times bestselling author

\\\"Presenting Christie as living a 'modern life, ' firmly in and 'of her time' is Dr. Worsley's key aim: neither nostalgic nor part of the heritage industry. She succeeds brilliantly, for the Agatha Chirstie (woman and author) that emerges from this astute and, at times, justifiably compassionate book is anything but cosy.\\\"-- \\\"Country Life\\\"

\\\"This is a warm, intelligent book that does justice both to Agatha Christie's character and to her distinctive genius as a writer of plays and novels. Someone once said that the greatest character Agatha Christie ever invented was Agatha Christie herself. If that's true, she was waiting for the perfect biographer to bring her back to life, and she has found her in Dr. Lucy Worsley.\\\"--A. N. Wilson, author of The Mystery of Charles Dickens and Geothe: His Faustian Life

\\\"Worsley comes up with another winner in this sprightly, endearing biography. Agatha Christie was elusive, Worsley argues, because she 'deliberately played upon the fact that she seemed so ordinary.' While building a devoted audience, she was also breaking new ground. With great affection, Worsley masterfully maneuvers her way through Christie's life and prolific oeuvre.\\\"-- \\\"Kirkus Reviews (starred review)\\\"\"},{\"id\":\"132928084T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\" Notes From Your Bookseller

Filled with historical accounts and personal anecdotes, the former Chief Curator for Historic Royal Palaces takes readers through some of the most significant moments from the monarchy.

\"},{\"id\":\"124125542T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Lucy Worsley, OBE, is the author of the bestselling Agatha Christie: An Elusive Woman. She is chief curator at the charity Historic Royal Palaces and regularly presents history documentaries for the BBC. Her critically acclaimed books include Queen Victoria; Jane Austen at Home; The Art of the English Murder; and If Walls Could Talk: An Intimate History of the Home. In 2019, her BBC One program Suffragettes with Lucy Worsley won a BAFTA. She lives in England.

\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/76895598444785","gid://shopify/Metafield/76895598149873","gid://shopify/Metafield/76895598412017","gid://shopify/Metafield/76895598280945","[{\"contributorId\":4548515,\"fullName\":\"Lucy Worsley\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",[6601],{"_148":6602,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":-5,"_3716":6603,"_5881":6604,"_5883":6605,"_5885":6606,"_5887":6559,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47824110289137",{"_148":6609,"_144":6610,"_5898":-5,"_3989":6611,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":6608,"_5894":5895},{"_76":6558,"_41":6559},[6607],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"29.95","gid://shopify/ProductImage/48774073680113","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9798897101825_p0.jpg?v=1783013462",1316,{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6608,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/8887640490225","This Land Is Your Land: A Road Trip through U.S. History","9781668033104","A Barack Obama Summer Reading List Selection Pulitzer Prize–winning author of G-Man and acclaimed historian Beverly Gage takes the ultimate road trip into the American past.Ride along with Pulitzer Prize–winning historian Beverly Gage as she travels the country to see the museums, historic sites, roadside attractions, reenactments, and souvenir shops where Americans learn—and fight—about our history. From the birth of the nation in Philadelphia to Disneyland and the California dream, This Land Is Your Land offers a guided tour of thirteen places and thirteen key moments that define America’s greatest successes and challenges. The year 2026 marks the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, a document that proclaimed the liberty and equality of all human beings, but produced a country that often failed to agree upon—or live up to—those ideals. This Land Is Your Land is for everyone who wants to find that history—to experience it and confront it, to celebrate it and condemn it—in the places where it happened. Gage shows that Americans can face their past and still love their country. Toss the book in the back seat—or listen on audio with the windows down—and join the journey.","A Barack Obama Summer Reading List Selection

Pulitzer Prize–winning author of G-Man and acclaimed historian Beverly Gage takes the ultimate road trip into the American past.

Ride along with Pulitzer Prize–winning historian Beverly Gage as she travels the country to see the museums, historic sites, roadside attractions, reenactments, and souvenir shops where Americans learn—and fight—about our history. From the birth of the nation in Philadelphia to Disneyland and the California dream, This Land Is Your Land offers a guided tour of thirteen places and thirteen key moments that define America’s greatest successes and challenges.

The year 2026 marks the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, a document that proclaimed the liberty and equality of all human beings, but produced a country that often failed to agree upon—or live up to—those ideals. This Land Is Your Land is for everyone who wants to find that history—to experience it and confront it, to celebrate it and condemn it—in the places where it happened.

Gage shows that Americans can face their past and still love their country. Toss the book in the back seat—or listen on audio with the windows down—and join the journey.",{"_148":6669,"_144":6670,"_3989":6671,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":6674},{"_5902":6672,"_5904":6673},{"_5873":6660},{"_5838":6647},{"_5838":6617},{"_5838":5797},[6628,-5,-5,6629,6630,-5,6631,6632,6633,6634,6635,-5,6636,6637,-5,6638,6639,6640],{"_148":6658,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":6659},{"_148":6657,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6656,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6655,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":6653,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":6654},{"_148":6651,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":6652},{"_148":6649,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":6650},{"_148":6648,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":6646,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":6647},{"_148":6645,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":6617},{"_148":6644,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":6642,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":6643},{"_148":6641,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":3798},"gid://shopify/Metafield/82234889797873","gid://shopify/Metafield/82234889830641","{\"scale_min\":\"1.0\",\"scale_max\":\"5.0\",\"value\":\"4.3\"}","gid://shopify/Metafield/41630682317041","gid://shopify/Metafield/41630681235697","gid://shopify/Metafield/74369947894001","[\"The Most Anticipated Books of 2026 (p10335)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Mother's Day Gifts (p3894)\",\"Top Books for Your Summer Reading List (p7187)\",\"Summer Reading (p5957)\",\"Celebrate the United States Semiquincentennial (p10659)\",\"Bonus $10 Reward on Our Favorite Books (p10710)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\",\"Spring into Reading (p5839)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/41630682218737","gid://shopify/Metafield/41630681792753","1147556625","gid://shopify/Metafield/41630682579185","This-Land-is-Your-Land/Beverly-Gage","gid://shopify/Metafield/72170497442033","[{\"id\":\"125456560T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Hop in and let an award-winning historian take you on an American adventure where the past meets the present. Journey through thirteen landmark locations that together reveal the full sweep of U.S. history.

\"},{\"id\":\"119166718T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

\"},{\"id\":\"125456563T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Beverly Gage teaches American history at Yale. Her book G-Man: J. Edgar Hoover and the Making of the American Century received the 2023 Pulitzer Prize for Biography, the Bancroft Prize in American History, the National Book Critics Circle Award for Biography, and the Los Angeles Times Book Prize in Biography. She is also the author of The Day Wall Street Exploded: A Story of America in its First Age of Terror, and writes for numerous journals and magazines, including The New Yorker, The New York Times, and The Washington Post.

\"},{\"id\":\"125456564T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Beverly Gage teaches American history at Yale. Her book G—Man: J. Edgar Hoover and the Making of the American Century received the 2023 Pulitzer Prize for Biography, the Bancroft Prize in American History, the National Book Critics Circle Award for Biography, and the Los Angeles Times Book Prize in Biography. She is also the author of The Day Wall Street Exploded: A Story of America in its First Age of Terror, and writes for numerous journals and magazines, including The New Yorker, The New York Times, and The Washington Post.\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/41630682284273","gid://shopify/Metafield/41630681891057","gid://shopify/Metafield/41630682251505","gid://shopify/Metafield/41630682022129","[{\"contributorId\":2020335,\"fullName\":\"Beverly Gage\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",[6661],{"_148":6662,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":-5,"_3716":6663,"_5881":6664,"_5883":6665,"_5885":6666,"_5887":6617,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46290080497905",{"_148":6669,"_144":6670,"_5898":-5,"_3989":6671,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":6668,"_5894":5895},{"_76":6616,"_41":6617},[6667],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"30.0","gid://shopify/ProductImage/47535568879857","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781668033104_p0.jpg?v=1785506789",1324,{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6668,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/9412282974449","Redwood: The Untold Story of the Cold War's Most Extraordinary Spy","9780593728123","NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • From the author of The Spy and the Traitor comes the ultimate true-life Cold War thriller: a “page-turning masterpiece” (The Guardian) about a Russian double agent with a desperate secret—and the key to stopping a nuclear apocalypse.“Ben Macintyre has a rare ability to turn history and espionage upside down and give us true, colorful stories that astound us as they draw us in. Redwood might be his best.”—John GrishamIn 1981, KGB Major Vladimir Kuzichkin, codenamed “Redwood,” was the best Soviet officer in Iran, running spies in the wake of the Islamic revolution and working with a hidden network of Iranian communists to undermine the new regime. But Kuzichkin had a problem, a sexual secret that, if revealed, would humiliate him with his colleagues, cost him his job, and send him into exile. Desperate for a solution, he reached out to the only place he believed could help: Britain’s MI6.So begins one of the most astounding true spy stories of the Cold War, set against the terrifying prospect of nuclear armageddon. Taking readers through shadowy back alleys of Tehran, across bloody streets and into cloistered intelligence offices, Ben Macintyre unfolds a world in turmoil, where no one’s motive is what it seems, and exposure means death. As Kuzichkin helps the Soviet leadership plot an overthrow of the Ayatollah’s fledgling regime—and the American government secretly contemplates a nuclear response if they do—it falls on MI6’s resourceful young undercover officer Ian McCredie to spirit Kuzichkin’s vital information back to the West. But when both Iranian intelligence and the KGB close in on the Russian double-agent, McCredie must design an improbable high-stakes escape plan for Kuzichkin, in which failure is almost certain and the direction of the Cold War hangs in the balance.This is the gripping tale of one man’s courage, and its extraordinary unintended consequences that still shape our world today. It’s about a moving friendship between spies on opposite sides of the global conflict; about marriage, loyalty, and betrayal. Drawing on never-before-seen archival material and revealing interviews with the participants, Redwood plunges readers back into the world of The Spy and the Traitor, where the fate of millions turns on the split-second decisions of spies under pressure.","NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • From the author of The Spy and the Traitor comes the ultimate true-life Cold War thriller: a “page-turning masterpiece” (The Guardian) about a Russian double agent with a desperate secret—and the key to stopping a nuclear apocalypse.

“Ben Macintyre has a rare ability to turn history and espionage upside down and give us true, colorful stories that astound us as they draw us in. Redwood might be his best.”—John Grisham

In 1981, KGB Major Vladimir Kuzichkin, codenamed “Redwood,” was the best Soviet officer in Iran, running spies in the wake of the Islamic revolution and working with a hidden network of Iranian communists to undermine the new regime. But Kuzichkin had a problem, a sexual secret that, if revealed, would humiliate him with his colleagues, cost him his job, and send him into exile. Desperate for a solution, he reached out to the only place he believed could help: Britain’s MI6.

So begins one of the most astounding true spy stories of the Cold War, set against the terrifying prospect of nuclear armageddon. Taking readers through shadowy back alleys of Tehran, across bloody streets and into cloistered intelligence offices, Ben Macintyre unfolds a world in turmoil, where no one’s motive is what it seems, and exposure means death. As Kuzichkin helps the Soviet leadership plot an overthrow of the Ayatollah’s fledgling regime—and the American government secretly contemplates a nuclear response if they do—it falls on MI6’s resourceful young undercover officer Ian McCredie to spirit Kuzichkin’s vital information back to the West. But when both Iranian intelligence and the KGB close in on the Russian double-agent, McCredie must design an improbable high-stakes escape plan for Kuzichkin, in which failure is almost certain and the direction of the Cold War hangs in the balance.

This is the gripping tale of one man’s courage, and its extraordinary unintended consequences that still shape our world today. It’s about a moving friendship between spies on opposite sides of the global conflict; about marriage, loyalty, and betrayal. Drawing on never-before-seen archival material and revealing interviews with the participants, Redwood plunges readers back into the world of The Spy and the Traitor, where the fate of millions turns on the split-second decisions of spies under pressure.",{"_148":6729,"_144":6730,"_3989":6731,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":6735},{"_5902":6733,"_5904":6734},{"_5873":6719},{"_5838":6706},{"_5838":6677},{"_5838":5797},[6688,-5,-5,6689,6690,-5,6691,6692,6693,6694,6695,-5,6696,6697,-5,6698,6699,6700],{"_148":6717,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":6718},{"_148":6716,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6715,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6714,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":6712,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":6713},{"_148":6710,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":6711},{"_148":6708,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":6709},{"_148":6707,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":6705,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":6706},{"_148":6704,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":6677},{"_148":6703,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":6702,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":5935},{"_148":6701,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":6054},"gid://shopify/Metafield/196642526331121","gid://shopify/Metafield/196717867499761","gid://shopify/Metafield/74633980313841","gid://shopify/Metafield/74633978642673","gid://shopify/Metafield/78682087293169","[\"BADGE - $3 OFF (p7877)\",\"B|$3 Off|#DD2A27|#701F15 (p7847)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Recently Reviewed (p10276)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/74633980084465","gid://shopify/Metafield/74633979494641","1148963735","gid://shopify/Metafield/74633980707057","Redwood/Ben-Macintyre","gid://shopify/Metafield/74634584326385","[{\"id\":\"132431612T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"1

Elite Forces

At the age of twenty-two, Vladimir Andreevich Kuzichkin discovered he was not who he thought he was.

Kuzichkin’s childhood was privileged, by Moscow standards. His father Andrei was a KGB officer, undistinguished and disgruntled, but enjoying the benefits that came from membership in the Soviet Union’s all-powerful intelligence and security service. His mother, Elisabeta, was an office typist. Born in 1947, Vladimir was principally raised by his maternal grandmother, who spoiled him. Despite the privations of postwar Russia, the family had enough to eat, clothing coupons, and holidays in a state dacha. When Vladimir was seven, they moved into a three-room apartment in a cooperative block in the Leningrad District, surrounded by a high fence to keep out the poor from the slums. An only child, little Volodya considered this a life of “luxury.”

But the family had a streak of violent unhappiness running through it, fueled by vodka. Andrei Kuzichkin was a vicious alcoholic. He beat Elisabeta on the weekend and whenever he drank during the week, which was usually. She suffered repeated miscarriages. This added to Andrei’s fury. He hit his son, too, until the boy grew big enough to defend himself. By the age of fourteen, Vladimir was already over six feet tall.

Intelligent and sensitive, Vladimir had hated his father for as long as he could remember. One summer in the dacha, he befriended a domesticated pig named Vasili, feeding the animal leftovers and teaching it to come when he whistled. At the end of the holiday Andrei sternly summoned Vladimir to the barn and insisted the boy watch as he killed his pet with a hatchet. Ten-year-old Volodya wept for a week, but not in front of his father. Like many abused children, fear and hatred brought complex secret feelings of guilt and self-loathing. “What kind of a person am I that I detest the man I came from?” he wondered. Sometimes he imagined killing his father, with an axe.

The boy rebelled, insofar as that was possible in Soviet Russia of the 1960s. He ran with a gang of street toughs and got into fights. His height made him a target. To defy his father, he refused to join Komsomol, the communist youth league. He listened to bootleg pop music from Britain and America and aped the forbidden fashions of the capitalist West. He also discovered the songs of Vladimir Vysotsky, an unruly star of the new Moscow folk underground. With a cousin and two friends, he formed a rock band called The Brothers. At the age of eighteen, wearing flares and two-inch home-adapted Cuban heels, Vladimir Kuzichkin imagined himself as a gigantic Russian version of Cliff Richard or Paul McCartney. “We are going to be the Russian Beatles,” he declared. Andrei Kuzichkin said his son’s music was rubbish and that The Brothers would never amount to anything. He was right.

Vladimir Kuzichkin finished school with good grades, a reputation for fistfights, a taste for Western pop, a damaged soul, and no ambition. Called up for three years’ military service, he was sent to Hagenow in East Germany as a radio operator in a nuclear missile launching unit, the front line of the Cold War. “In the event of war,” he recalled, “the division’s task was to annihilate Hamburg with six tactical nuclear missiles” and then be obliterated in turn, in accordance with the logic of mutually assured destruction (MAD). The naïve young conscript was not overly concerned by his assigned role in nuclear Armageddon. He was very bored.

One morning, Kuzichkin was summoned to the commander’s office to take an urgent telephone call from his mother. “Your father is dead,” Elisabeta Kuzichkina said, her voice hoarse. “You must come home.” Granted two days’ compassionate leave, on the train to Moscow he wondered at his own lack of grief. He was unable to cry. His overwhelming feeling was not grief, but relief. “Now I don’t have to hate myself so much,” he reflected.

Opening the apartment front door, he found Andrei Kuzichkin seated at the table, very much alive, and drunk. The older man picked up his bottle without a word and retreated to the bedroom. Between sobs, Elisabeta confessed her lie.

Vladimir’s father was not Andrei Kuzichkin, but Georgi Alexandreevich Larkin, a tall, good-looking construction engineer of Irish ancestry, hence his unusual surname. Elisabeta and Georgi met after the war, and she had become pregnant. They intended to marry. But then he was sent to Siberia to build a steel factory. Georgi urged her to come too. She refused. What would she do there? Moscow was the only world she knew. Larkin never returned from the east. For a few years Elisabeta struggled on as an unmarried working mother, while her mother cared for the child. Her sister was married to a KGB officer, who introduced her to his brother, also in the KGB. Andrei Kuzichkin was boozy and rough, but he had a good job. Andrei offered a future. He even reluctantly agreed to adopt her child.

And now Georgi Larkin, the only man she had ever loved, was dead from a heart attack on a bear-hunting expedition in the Siberian wilderness. It was four hours before they discovered his body in the snow.

Vladimir Kuzichkin was baffled and furious. “How could she deceive me all these years?” he wondered. He ignored Andrei from that day on. And yet the discovery explained everything: the dislocation he had always felt; his hatred for the man who had pretended to be his father and beaten that untruth into him. More prosaically, it explained his height and coloring. To his friends, bandmates, and army comrades, he was still Kuzichkin, the lanky would-be pop star, but inside, secretly, he was Larkin. The discovery of a real father, now invested with imaginary qualities Georgi had never possessed in life, awoke the possibility of making himself into someone else. So that is what he did.

To begin that transformation, he decided, he would need some higher education. Back at the Hagenow base, he plunged into the officers’ library and began reading ravenously. He joined the Communist Party (an unshakable requirement for anyone with ambition in Soviet Russia), but without much conviction. He had recited the mantras of Marxism from his earliest childhood, and believed them, along with everyone else. The discovery of his real father made him question everything he had grown up with, including communism. He did not share these heretical thoughts with anyone else. He barely admitted them to himself.

After three years in uniform, Kuzichkin applied to study at the Institute of Asian and African Countries in Moscow, a specialist university teaching Oriental and African languages. Mastery of a foreign tongue “raised the probability of future work abroad.” Reading down the list of language options, from Arabic to Zulu, he settled on Persian (or Farsi), the language of Iran. It sounded intriguing, and the course was undersubscribed. A model Soviet citizen with good academic grades and a clean military record, Kuzichkin was told to report to the Institute on September 1, 1970.

In addition to Iran’s language, culture, and history, the six-year course included a substantial ideological component: Communist Party history, dialectical materialism, Marxism-Leninism, philosophy, and political economy. Each student was required to learn an additional Western language: he chose English. If he was deemed suitable, the fourth year (1973–1974) would be spent in Iran.

Located on Karl Marx Prospekt opposite the Kremlin, the Institute was controlled by the International Department of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU). Like every other organ of state, its primary function was to bolster communism and spread the doctrine of revolution worldwide. Kuzichkin was now “in the fast lane of Soviet society,” he reflected, a student at a top university with a bright future: “There was nothing to bar my progress.”

Kuzichkin was a shy, awkward young man, as tall people sometimes are. Except when drunk. Alcohol brought out the extrovert in him. In social situations he tended to drink fast and deeply, before seizing a guitar and bursting into song. Women were drawn to this gentle, melodious giant with bright blue eyes and a shock of fair hair. In October, at a party thrown by a friend of his flatmate, Kuzichkin plucked up and soaked up enough Dutch courage to ask a girl to dance. Her name was Galina Lvovna Kokosova, a petite, pale, sweet-faced woman two years his junior. They swayed to bootlegged Rolling Stones records, her head on his chest, tiny in his arms.

Galina, known as Galya to friends and family, could not understand how such a handsome man could be attracted to her. “I was a very sad and lonely 22-year-old girl: I wasn’t in love with anyone; I didn’t have any particularly close friends; and, after my dad departed, everything in my life went almost catastrophically wrong. The period from 1965, when my father passed away, until I met Volodya, were the saddest years of my existence.” He gave her a confidence she had never felt before.\"},{\"id\":\"132431422T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"1

Elite Forces

At the age of twenty-two, Vladimir Andreevich Kuzichkin discovered he was not who he thought he was.

Kuzichkin’s childhood was privileged, by Moscow standards. His father Andrei was a KGB officer, undistinguished and disgruntled, but enjoying the benefits that came from membership in the Soviet Union’s all-powerful intelligence and security service. His mother, Elisabeta, was an office typist. Born in 1947, Vladimir was principally raised by his maternal grandmother, who spoiled him. Despite the privations of postwar Russia, the family had enough to eat, clothing coupons, and holidays in a state dacha. When Vladimir was seven, they moved into a three-room apartment in a cooperative block in the Leningrad District, surrounded by a high fence to keep out the poor from the slums. An only child, little Volodya considered this a life of “luxury.”

But the family had a streak of violent unhappiness running through it, fueled by vodka. Andrei Kuzichkin was a vicious alcoholic. He beat Elisabeta on the weekend and whenever he drank during the week, which was usually. She suffered repeated miscarriages. This added to Andrei’s fury. He hit his son, too, until the boy grew big enough to defend himself. By the age of fourteen, Vladimir was already over six feet tall.

Intelligent and sensitive, Vladimir had hated his father for as long as he could remember. One summer in the dacha, he befriended a domesticated pig named Vasili, feeding the animal leftovers and teaching it to come when he whistled. At the end of the holiday Andrei sternly summoned Vladimir to the barn and insisted the boy watch as he killed his pet with a hatchet. Ten-year-old Volodya wept for a week, but not in front of his father. Like many abused children, fear and hatred brought complex secret feelings of guilt and self-loathing. “What kind of a person am I that I detest the man I came from?” he wondered. Sometimes he imagined killing his father, with an axe.

The boy rebelled, insofar as that was possible in Soviet Russia of the 1960s. He ran with a gang of street toughs and got into fights. His height made him a target. To defy his father, he refused to join Komsomol, the communist youth league. He listened to bootleg pop music from Britain and America and aped the forbidden fashions of the capitalist West. He also discovered the songs of Vladimir Vysotsky, an unruly star of the new Moscow folk underground. With a cousin and two friends, he formed a rock band called The Brothers. At the age of eighteen, wearing flares and two-inch home-adapted Cuban heels, Vladimir Kuzichkin imagined himself as a gigantic Russian version of Cliff Richard or Paul McCartney. “We are going to be the Russian Beatles,” he declared. Andrei Kuzichkin said his son’s music was rubbish and that The Brothers would never amount to anything. He was right.

Vladimir Kuzichkin finished school with good grades, a reputation for fistfights, a taste for Western pop, a damaged soul, and no ambition. Called up for three years’ military service, he was sent to Hagenow in East Germany as a radio operator in a nuclear missile launching unit, the front line of the Cold War. “In the event of war,” he recalled, “the division’s task was to annihilate Hamburg with six tactical nuclear missiles” and then be obliterated in turn, in accordance with the logic of mutually assured destruction (MAD). The naïve young conscript was not overly concerned by his assigned role in nuclear Armageddon. He was very bored.

One morning, Kuzichkin was summoned to the commander’s office to take an urgent telephone call from his mother. “Your father is dead,” Elisabeta Kuzichkina said, her voice hoarse. “You must come home.” Granted two days’ compassionate leave, on the train to Moscow he wondered at his own lack of grief. He was unable to cry. His overwhelming feeling was not grief, but relief. “Now I don’t have to hate myself so much,” he reflected.

Opening the apartment front door, he found Andrei Kuzichkin seated at the table, very much alive, and drunk. The older man picked up his bottle without a word and retreated to the bedroom. Between sobs, Elisabeta confessed her lie.

Vladimir’s father was not Andrei Kuzichkin, but Georgi Alexandreevich Larkin, a tall, good-looking construction engineer of Irish ancestry, hence his unusual surname. Elisabeta and Georgi met after the war, and she had become pregnant. They intended to marry. But then he was sent to Siberia to build a steel factory. Georgi urged her to come too. She refused. What would she do there? Moscow was the only world she knew. Larkin never returned from the east. For a few years Elisabeta struggled on as an unmarried working mother, while her mother cared for the child. Her sister was married to a KGB officer, who introduced her to his brother, also in the KGB. Andrei Kuzichkin was boozy and rough, but he had a good job. Andrei offered a future. He even reluctantly agreed to adopt her child.

And now Georgi Larkin, the only man she had ever loved, was dead from a heart attack on a bear-hunting expedition in the Siberian wilderness. It was four hours before they discovered his body in the snow.

Vladimir Kuzichkin was baffled and furious. “How could she deceive me all these years?” he wondered. He ignored Andrei from that day on. And yet the discovery explained everything: the dislocation he had always felt; his hatred for the man who had pretended to be his father and beaten that untruth into him. More prosaically, it explained his height and coloring. To his friends, bandmates, and army comrades, he was still Kuzichkin, the lanky would-be pop star, but inside, secretly, he was Larkin. The discovery of a real father, now invested with imaginary qualities Georgi had never possessed in life, awoke the possibility of making himself into someone else. So that is what he did.

To begin that transformation, he decided, he would need some higher education. Back at the Hagenow base, he plunged into the officers’ library and began reading ravenously. He joined the Communist Party (an unshakable requirement for anyone with ambition in Soviet Russia), but without much conviction. He had recited the mantras of Marxism from his earliest childhood, and believed them, along with everyone else. The discovery of his real father made him question everything he had grown up with, including communism. He did not share these heretical thoughts with anyone else. He barely admitted them to himself.

After three years in uniform, Kuzichkin applied to study at the Institute of Asian and African Countries in Moscow, a specialist university teaching Oriental and African languages. Mastery of a foreign tongue “raised the probability of future work abroad.” Reading down the list of language options, from Arabic to Zulu, he settled on Persian (or Farsi), the language of Iran. It sounded intriguing, and the course was undersubscribed. A model Soviet citizen with good academic grades and a clean military record, Kuzichkin was told to report to the Institute on September 1, 1970.

In addition to Iran’s language, culture, and history, the six-year course included a substantial ideological component: Communist Party history, dialectical materialism, Marxism-Leninism, philosophy, and political economy. Each student was required to learn an additional Western language: he chose English. If he was deemed suitable, the fourth year (1973–1974) would be spent in Iran.

Located on Karl Marx Prospekt opposite the Kremlin, the Institute was controlled by the International Department of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU). Like every other organ of state, its primary function was to bolster communism and spread the doctrine of revolution worldwide. Kuzichkin was now “in the fast lane of Soviet society,” he reflected, a student at a top university with a bright future: “There was nothing to bar my progress.”

Kuzichkin was a shy, awkward young man, as tall people sometimes are. Except when drunk. Alcohol brought out the extrovert in him. In social situations he tended to drink fast and deeply, before seizing a guitar and bursting into song. Women were drawn to this gentle, melodious giant with bright blue eyes and a shock of fair hair. In October, at a party thrown by a friend of his flatmate, Kuzichkin plucked up and soaked up enough Dutch courage to ask a girl to dance. Her name was Galina Lvovna Kokosova, a petite, pale, sweet-faced woman two years his junior. They swayed to bootlegged Rolling Stones records, her head on his chest, tiny in his arms.

Galina, known as Galya to friends and family, could not understand how such a handsome man could be attracted to her. “I was a very sad and lonely 22-year-old girl: I wasn’t in love with anyone; I didn’t have any particularly close friends; and, after my dad departed, everything in my life went almost catastrophically wrong. The period from 1965, when my father passed away, until I met Volodya, were the saddest years of my existence.” He gave her a confidence she had never felt before.\"},{\"id\":\"127897052T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"“I grab each new book by Ben Macintyre and read it as fast as possible. He has a rare ability to turn history and espionage upside down and give us true, colorful stories that astound us as they draw us in. Redwood might be his best. Given the current war in Iran, it is certainly his most timely.”—John Grisham

“An author of thrilling spy histories par excellence, Macintyre takes readers into post-Revolutionary Iran where Islamists and leftists, once allies against imperialism, turn on each other—and where a Russian agent, unable to perform in the bedroom, turns to British intelligence for a cure. The consequences are deadly.”—The New York Times (Editor's Choice)

“Redwood lives up to the attention-grabbing opening scene; I devoured it in a single sitting . . . By all means give Redwood to your father for Christmas, but make sure you read it yourself first: it’s superb.”—The Guardian

“[A]n artfully constructed nonfiction equivalent to one of John le Carré’s most accomplished novels.”—The Wall Street Journal

“The British writer Ben Macintyre has made an illustrious career of taking dusty government archives and transforming them into propulsive nonfiction thrillers. . . . With his latest, Redwood, he has done it again.”—The New York Times Book Review

“[A] timely and remarkable story of Cold War espionage.”—BBC Radio 4

“As in all the best spy stories, what lies at the heart of Redwood, Ben Macintyre’s mesmerising tale of Cold War espionage in Iran, is the human factor. . . . Writing is understanding what makes people tick, and it is his insightful portrayal of the shifting relationship between the two spies—part mutual exploitation, part something akin to friendship—that powers Redwood and holds the attention through the complexities of its political context.”—The Times (UK)

“A crackerjack spy story that only Ben Macintyre could tell so well. He seems to have talked to everyone, and cracked every file, that might shed new light on this remarkable tale.”—Scott Anderson, author of King of Kings: The Iranian Revolution: A Story of Hubris, Delusion and Catastrophic Miscalculation

“Few writers make intelligence history as readable as Ben Macintyre. His latest book follows Soviet intelligence officer Vladimir Kuzichkin, whose defection during the Cold War exposed secrets that rippled through Moscow, Tehran and the West during one of the most dangerous periods of the nuclear age.”—Military

“A tangled tale of spy versus spy . . . As ever, Macintyre delivers an improbable but impeccable tale of true espionage.”—Kirkus Reviews

“[A] riveting real-life thriller . . . Macintyre’s lively espionage saga, full of brush-pasts and dead drops, stands James Bond on his head . . . [A] morally murky tale of manipulation and unforeseen consequences.”—Publishers Weekly

“In his latest book, Redwood, Macintyre moves the action to Iran in the early 1980s, when revolutionary chaos reigned under Ayatollah Khomeini and Western intelligence agencies were eager for any tidbits of information. . . . . Macintyre deftly sketches the personalities of those involved and perfectly captures the paranoia of those times.”—Air Mail
\"},{\"id\":\"133592439T\",\"type\":\"Award Note\",\"linkText\":\"Award Note\",\"typeId\":\"1036\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"2026 The Baillie Gifford Prize, Long-listed
\"},{\"id\":\"128651742T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

He revealed the Kremlin’s secret plot and prevented Armageddon. This gripping account of an unsung hero brings the hidden world of Cold War espionage to life.

\"},{\"id\":\"121116298T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Ben Macintyre is a writer-at-large for The Times (UK) and the bestselling author of Agent Sonya, The Spy and the Traitor, A Spy Among Friends, Double Cross, Operation Mincemeat, Agent Zigzag, Rogue Heroes, Prisoners of the Castle, and The Siege, among other books. Macintyre has also written and presented BBC documentaries of his work.

\"},{\"id\":\"122263818T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/74633980248305","gid://shopify/Metafield/74633979625713","gid://shopify/Metafield/74633980182769","gid://shopify/Metafield/74633979855089","[{\"contributorId\":170136,\"fullName\":\"Ben Macintyre\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",[6720],{"_148":6721,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":6722,"_3716":6723,"_5881":6724,"_5883":6725,"_5885":6726,"_5887":6677,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47588913676529",{"_5892":6732,"_5894":5895},{"_148":6729,"_144":6730,"_5898":-5,"_3989":6731,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":6728,"_5894":5895},{"_76":6676,"_41":6677},[6727],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"32.0","gid://shopify/ProductImage/49384249131249","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9780593728123_p0.jpg?v=1783566741",1315,"35.0",{"_5892":6732,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6732,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6728,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/8887694786801","This Vast Enterprise: A New History of Lewis & Clark","9781982174248","NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • A major revisionist history of the Lewis and Clark expedition: For the first time in a generation, This Vast Enterprise offers a fresh and more accurate account of one of the most important episodes in American history, humanizing forgotten figures and shattering long-held myths. “This Vast Enterprise is a page-turner and a fantastic achievement.” —The New York Times • “Immensely engaging.” —The Wall Street Journal • “This is vivid, character-based history...It also makes for a ripping good read.” —The Boston Globe “Do we really need another book about the Lewis and Clark expedition?...My answer is an emphatic yes. The author has done a huge amount of research, shifting the focus away from the familiar pairing of Meriwether Lewis and William Clark...Each chapter unfolds from the viewpoint of a different individual and the result is a richly woven tapestry of voices...Fehrman reframes this well-known story, revealing it as more complex, and profoundly human.” —Andrea Wulf, The New York Times Book Review (front-cover review)In 1806, when Meriwether Lewis and William Clark return from their journey—having led the Corps of Discovery across eight thousand miles of rapids, mountains, forests, and ravines—they bring an incredible tale starring themselves as courageous explorers, skilled survivalists, underrated scientists, and peaceful ambassadors. While there is truth in those descriptions, there is also distortion. From one of the most exciting new historians to emerge in the past decade, This Vast Enterprise offers a novel take on the expedition: a gripping narrative that draws on lost documents, stunning analysis, and Native perspectives. Craig Fehrman spent five years visiting more than thirty archives, interviewing more than a hundred sources, and collecting oral history passed down over centuries. He came to see that the success of Lewis and Clark depended on much more than just Lewis and Clark. We all know Sacajawea, and some of us know York, the Black man Clark enslaved. But here we meet John Ordway, a working-class soldier who fought grizzlies and towed the captains’ hulking barge. We hear from Wolf Calf, a Blackfoot teenager who watched his friend die in a battle with Lewis and his men. Each chapter moves to a different person’s point of view, describing their desires and contradictions. We see Thomas Jefferson operating in an age of bitter partisan unrest—his secret political maneuvers to fund the expedition, revealed here for the first time, are a case study in presidential power. We witness the strategy and strength of Black Buffalo, completely upending our understanding of Lakota-American diplomacy. York, in his chapters, finds ways to wield power and make choices in an era that didn’t allow him much of either. Clark is not a folksy Kentuckian but a student of the Enlightenment. (Fehrman discovered his college notebook; no previous biographer even realized that he went to college.) Lewis is someone willing to sacrifice everything for his country and his mentor, Jefferson. In the end, the captains are men who needed help—from Sacajawea, from the Corps, and from each other. Mile after mile, the expedition pushes on through hailstorms and flash floods, frostbite and infections, rattlesnakes and rabid wolves, with the Spanish cavalry in fierce pursuit. Fehrman balances the story’s adventure with the humanity of its protagonists. The result is a thrilling reminder that even the most familiar moments in history can still surprise us.","NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • A major revisionist history of the Lewis and Clark expedition: For the first time in a generation, This Vast Enterprise offers a fresh and more accurate account of one of the most important episodes in American history, humanizing forgotten figures and shattering long-held myths.

“This Vast Enterprise is a page-turner and a fantastic achievement.” —The New York Times • “Immensely engaging.” —The Wall Street Journal • “This is vivid, character-based history...It also makes for a ripping good read.” —The Boston Globe

“Do we really need another book about the Lewis and Clark expedition?...My answer is an emphatic yes. The author has done a huge amount of research, shifting the focus away from the familiar pairing of Meriwether Lewis and William Clark...Each chapter unfolds from the viewpoint of a different individual and the result is a richly woven tapestry of voices...Fehrman reframes this well-known story, revealing it as more complex, and profoundly human.” —Andrea Wulf, The New York Times Book Review (front-cover review)

In 1806, when Meriwether Lewis and William Clark return from their journey—having led the Corps of Discovery across eight thousand miles of rapids, mountains, forests, and ravines—they bring an incredible tale starring themselves as courageous explorers, skilled survivalists, underrated scientists, and peaceful ambassadors. While there is truth in those descriptions, there is also distortion.

From one of the most exciting new historians to emerge in the past decade, This Vast Enterprise offers a novel take on the expedition: a gripping narrative that draws on lost documents, stunning analysis, and Native perspectives. Craig Fehrman spent five years visiting more than thirty archives, interviewing more than a hundred sources, and collecting oral history passed down over centuries. He came to see that the success of Lewis and Clark depended on much more than just Lewis and Clark. We all know Sacajawea, and some of us know York, the Black man Clark enslaved. But here we meet John Ordway, a working-class soldier who fought grizzlies and towed the captains’ hulking barge. We hear from Wolf Calf, a Blackfoot teenager who watched his friend die in a battle with Lewis and his men.

Each chapter moves to a different person’s point of view, describing their desires and contradictions. We see Thomas Jefferson operating in an age of bitter partisan unrest—his secret political maneuvers to fund the expedition, revealed here for the first time, are a case study in presidential power. We witness the strategy and strength of Black Buffalo, completely upending our understanding of Lakota-American diplomacy. York, in his chapters, finds ways to wield power and make choices in an era that didn’t allow him much of either. Clark is not a folksy Kentuckian but a student of the Enlightenment. (Fehrman discovered his college notebook; no previous biographer even realized that he went to college.) Lewis is someone willing to sacrifice everything for his country and his mentor, Jefferson.

In the end, the captains are men who needed help—from Sacajawea, from the Corps, and from each other. Mile after mile, the expedition pushes on through hailstorms and flash floods, frostbite and infections, rattlesnakes and rabid wolves, with the Spanish cavalry in fierce pursuit. Fehrman balances the story’s adventure with the humanity of its protagonists. The result is a thrilling reminder that even the most familiar moments in history can still surprise us.",{"_148":6788,"_144":6789,"_3989":6731,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":6792},{"_5902":6790,"_5904":6791},{"_5873":6780},{"_5838":6767},{"_5838":6738},{"_5838":5797},[6749,-5,-5,6750,6751,-5,6752,6753,6754,6755,6756,-5,6757,6758,-5,6759,6760,6761],{"_148":6778,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":6779},{"_148":6777,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6776,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6775,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":6773,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":6774},{"_148":6771,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":6772},{"_148":6769,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":6770},{"_148":6768,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":6766,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":6767},{"_148":6765,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":6738},{"_148":6764,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":6763,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":5935},{"_148":6762,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":3792},"gid://shopify/Metafield/82223662530801","gid://shopify/Metafield/90388120502513","gid://shopify/Metafield/41633383710961","gid://shopify/Metafield/41633381318897","gid://shopify/Metafield/93853007184113","[\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Bonus $10 Reward on Our Favorite Books (p10710)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/41633383481585","gid://shopify/Metafield/41633382629617","1147556616","gid://shopify/Metafield/41633384235249","This-Vast-Enterprise/Craig-Fehrman","gid://shopify/Metafield/61957538644209","[{\"id\":\"118931906T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"“This Vast Enterprise is a page-turner and a fantastic achievement. . . . Do we really need another book about the Lewis and Clark expedition? . . . After reading This Vast Enterprise, my answer is an emphatic yes. The author has done a huge amount of research, shifting the focus away from the familiar pairing of Meriwether Lewis and William Clark and widening the lens. . . . Each chapter unfolds from the viewpoint of a different individual and the result is a richly woven tapestry of voices. . . . Through the perspectives of 10 people, Fehrman reframes this well-known story, revealing it as more complex, and profoundly human.”
—Andrea Wulf, The New York Times Book Review (front-cover review)

“This is vivid, character-based history. . . . Fehrman weaves a tale that uses human stories to go beyond hard facts and calcified myths. . . . This Vast Enterprise moves Lewis, Clark, and their crew out of the realm of myth and into a world not just of blood and sweat but also negotiation: with the land, with Native peoples, and with each other. Fehrman’s approach to this well-trodden historical chapter is fresh and inclusive. It also makes for a ripping good read.”
—Boston Globe

“More than 220 years later, the Lewis and Clark expedition still intrigues. . . . In his immensely engaging book, This Vast Enterprise, Craig Fehrman strives to capture the motivations, values and ideas of the individuals who contributed to this multifaceted historical event. . . . Based on thorough research of published and unpublished sources, as well as Native American oral tradition, the book gives this well-known story a fresh breadth of implication.”
—Wall Street Journal

“An innovative new history of the expedition . . . History is usually written in the third person, even though it has to be lived in the first, and Fehrman takes advantage of the rich and deep documentation of the Lewis and Clark expedition to try to reconcile the discrepancy. . . . Fehrman doesn’t attempt to speak in the voices of his subjects. He merely focuses on what each individual experienced and knew, while keeping in mind how much they didn’t experience and didn’t know—an analytic technique that historians have always been free to borrow from novelists but often lose sight of in the scramble to accumulate data.”
—New Yorker

“An incredible feat, Craig Fehrman’s This Vast Enterprise is a wildly entertaining history of Lewis and Clark—the product of more than half a decade of rigorous and immensely impressive research—that never loses sight of the adventure at its center. Fehrman brings this legendary expedition thrillingly to life by turning our attention beyond Lewis and Clark themselves, revealing the oft-overlooked people and perspectives that made the journey possible. Expansive, compelling, and alive on every page, this is a perfect summer read for America’s 250th anniversary.” —Isaac Fitzgerald, The TODAY Show, “Summer Beach Reads: The Buzziest Books of the Season”

“Riveting . . . Grounded in outstanding scholarship . . . By writing from various points of view, Fehrman broadens the long-held narrative of the expedition, enriching what we know of its successes and failures. . . . Fehrman has done a great service to American history in this must-read.”
—Booklist (starred review)

“For a fresh take on the first American road trip: The Vast Enterprise: A New History of Lewis & Clark, Indiana-based journalist Craig Fehrman’s immersive panorama, drawing on oral histories and long-buried sources, rescues this potted narrative from the usual classroom tales of two men and a canoe, for a revelatory portrait about mutual surprise, allowing equal time to both the discovers and the owners of the land being discovered.”
—Chicago Tribune

“A valuable fresh look at a storied moment in American history . . . The book’s wide-angle perspective is appropriate, since Lewis and Clark favored a more democratic decision-making style than was usual on a military expedition, and the inclusion of multiple Native points of view makes it clear how complex and fraught the team’s mission was. Fehrman’s approach gives added depth to his chronicle of the breathtaking natural wonders encountered and extraordinary hardships overcome on the Corps’ transcontinental trek.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

“A piercing revisionist account of Meriwether Lewis and William Clark’s 1804 expedition . . . Readers will learn much from this revelatory unveiling of the raw humanity behind the hagiography.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)

“I followed Meriwether Lewis and William Clark’s expedition to the Pacific in Craig Fehrman’s This Vast Enterprise. . . . I now feel as if I know how the Lewis and Clark team felt. . . . Lewis, Clark and several of the 30 men with them kept detailed journals, and Fehrman has drunk deeply from them as well as from recollections of the Native American leaders they encountered along the way. I felt like I was sharing the vistas, smells, discomforts, injuries, terrors (grizzly bears!) and occasional joys of an expedition now over 200 years back. . . . [Fehrman] scored a touchdown.”
—John McWhorter, New York Times Opinion

“This Vast Enterprise [is] an ambitious, appropriately timed book. . . . The Lewis and Clark story sits at the intersection of American idealism and original sin—the pioneering spirit that defines American exceptionalism, and the displacement and slavery that shadowed it. Fehrman doesn't choose a side. He offers an optimistic view of America through a self-critical lens. . . . This Vast Enterprise has much to say about the well-known heroes. More importantly, it advances the story, helping us understand what drives Americans from all walks of life to venture into the unknown.”
—Indianapolis Star

“Craig Fehrman has done what he set out to do: shed new light on a fabled story, and tell it in a way that puts all of us back in a vanished but resonant world. His rendering of the Lewis and Clark saga is original, compelling, and memorable.”
—Jon Meacham, author of And There Was Light

“There are innumerable accounts of the Corps of Discovery, and it remains one of America’s favorite stories . . . Yet Fehrman manages to breathe new life into this well-worn tale through his masterful retelling. Fehrman deftly moves Captains Lewis and Clark out of the spotlight and brings in perspectives we’ve not heard before—like those of Lakota leader Black Buffalo, working-class sergeant John Ordway and a Blackfoot teenager named Wolf Calf—and he expands our understanding of the critical characters we’ve come to know in lore and legend. . . . Like Adam Higginbotham’s Challenger and Isabel Wilkerson’s The Warmth of Other Suns, This Vast Enterprise delivers a brilliant new interpretation of a story that deserves to be known in its entirety.”
—BookPage (starred review)

“This book is so, so good, one of my favorites of the last decade.”
—Patrick Wyman, Tides of History

“Craig Fehrman has done an incredible job of bringing this story of exploration and manifest destiny to life. He presents a kaleidoscope of figures whose lives intersected with the duo on their trek across the country, from enslaved men working alongside them to the Indigenous people whose territories they encroached on. It’s history that feels colorful—and like a more accurate portrait of what truly unfolded.”
—Traci Thomas, Marie Claire

“The Lewis and Clark Expedition is one of the most compelling stories in American history. . . . Fehrman’s beautifully illustrated book is an updated and worthy addition to the Lewis and Clark literature.”
—Christianity Today

“A born storyteller . . . Fehrman spent five years crafting this frontier Rashomon . . . in which the journey unfolds through multiple viewpoints distilled from 30 archives and a hundred Native and other oral histories. What in less skillful hands might have been a mere travelogue becomes a cross-cultural, stunningly rendered rethink of Discoverers and Discovered. . . . Fehrman has written a rousing adventure tale that may also qualify as the most lyrical of survival guides.”
—The Washington Free Beacon

“This Vast Enterprise is a distinctive new interpretation. . . . I can personally attest that it has caused me to reappraise my own understanding of certain themes. [Fehrman] has proved once again that if one is simply diligent enough to read closely and study the patterns there’s always more to learn. . . . This is sleuthing and revisionist history at its best . . . [with] a strong narrative cadence and witty writing throughout.”
—David L. Nicandri, We Proceeded On

“Historian Craig Fehrman offers a revelatory take on Lewis and Clark’s Corps of Discovery expedition. The chapters alternate among characters, presenting the arduous journey from different perspectives. In addition to Meriwether Lewis and William Clark . . . the deeply researched account also foregrounds lesser-known figures.”
—Christian Science Monitor, “Best Books of April”

“In his spectacular new book, every bit as audacious as the original expedition, Craig Fehrman rewrites our memory of the journey of Lewis and Clark, broadening the lens to show the many personalities—many long forgotten—who in 1804 made up the most daring American experiment yet. He paints an incredible, vivid, you-are-there portrait of an American nation being imagined and created for the first time and all those, from Thomas Jefferson to Native American chiefs, whose lives were forever altered by two of the most famous explorers in history.”
—Garrett M. Graff, Pulitzer Prize finalist and author of The Devil Reached Toward the Sky

“In This Vast Enterprise, Craig Fehrman has composed a magnificent hymn to a wildly colorful and largely unsung cast of fascinating, provocative characters without whom the epic of Lewis and Clark never would have been possible. A sweeping and revelatory story by a writer who is willing not only to acknowledge but also to embrace the complexities, nuances, and richness that have always resided beneath the surface of one of America’s most cherished national myths.”
—Kevin Fedarko, New York Times bestselling author of A Walk in the Park

“It’s appropriate that the most fascinating characters in Craig Fehrman’s riveting new page-turner are translators. For, like all the finest historians, Fehrman is a master translator, too: between historical epochs, between cultures—and most of all, between the story of Lewis and Clark we learned as kids (two heroic white men and their enthusiastic Native assistant blazing new vistas of science and exploration), and the richer and far more fascinating reality.”
—Rick Perlstein, author of Reaganland

“Anyone interested in American history, and especially the Lewis and Clark expedition, must read this book. Fehrman is an insightful researcher, and an excellent and entertaining author.”
—Robert J. Miller, author of Native America, Discovered and Conquered, enrolled citizen of the Eastern Shawnee Tribe

“By featuring a vibrant and diverse cast, including Native men and women, Craig Fehrman gives greater depth and a richer context to the famed Lewis and Clark expedition. In vivid prose and with keen insight, This Vast Enterprise reveals the high stakes of American expansion for the continent.”
—Alan Taylor, author of American Republics: A Continental History of the United States, 1783–1850

“Here, at long last, is the Lewis and Clark expedition presented in living technicolor. Employing an ever-shifting point of view that slyly and intriguingly builds upon itself, we see the great historic project as an epic of mutual discovery, in which the explorers and those whose lands are being explored are given equal consideration and dramatic weight. In this way, Fehrman leads us to confront the deeper truth that ‘discovery’ is never a one-way process—its fruits and its legacies, its gifts and its curses, flow in multiple directions.”
—Hampton Sides, New York Times bestselling author of Blood and Thunder and The Wide Wide Sea

“When America was just 30 years old, as opposed to 250, the adventure-loving President Thomas Jefferson commissioned what we could call the original great American road trip: the Lewis and Clark expedition. In This Vast Enterprise, gifted journalist and historian Craig Fehrman tells a new and gripping story of this expedition, relying extensively on original archival documents and other primary sources. . . . In a note to his readers, he reflects on the 10 people around whose voices he’s structured his book: “I love each of these ten people, even if some of them break my heart.” Reading his book—especially in learning what happened to some of them after the expedition—one cannot help but agree. But also, only the things we truly and deeply love can break our heart—like the love for our country and its traditions, the beauty and the hurt, glory and ignominy, forever inseparably together.”
—The Dispatch

“Stirring . . . The expedition, called the Corps of Discovery, required an incredible amount of nonstop work over three years. . . . In addition to the complex logistical challenges, the journey had political, international, and scientific implications. . . . Fehrman recounts the many battles and rivalries between the Hidatsa, Lakota, Arikara, Mandan, Shoshone, and others—a complex web of alliances and enmities that Lewis and Clark had to navigate as well. . . . Fehrman dives deeply into the oral histories of the Native Americans to reveal their perspectives on the explorers.”
—National Review

“The tale of two intrepid explorers traversing the Missouri River to map the Western U.S. is a familiar one, and Fehrman didn't want to tackle it unless there was something new to say. Turns out there was more than anyone could have imagined. This Vast Enterprise chronicles the expedition in meticulous, beautiful and sometimes gory detail. [Fehrman] spent five years burrowing into the heads of not only Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, but scores of other figures who had largely been hurled aside by history.”
—Evansville Courier & Press

“What makes Craig Fehrman’s new history so valuable is the voices of others involved that flesh out the traditional account and offers viewpoints and nuance to the story that have never been heard before. . . . Fehrman has penned a new telling of the greatest adventure of our early Republic. This Vast Enterprise adds new strands to a rich tapestry of true American adventure, one worthy of its place in the pantheon of the American story.”
—Carolina Chronicles

“An extraordinary new book.”
—Clay Jenkinson, Listening to America

“The Lewis & Clark Expedition has been the subject of a mighty mound of writing, from histories to biographies streams of historical fiction to stage plays and even a couple of operas, and that naturally opens the door to a great deal of mythologizing. This mythologizing takes a serious and thoroughly delightful pounding in This Vast Enterprise . . . . The real account was not only far more complicated but, as Fehrman rightly notes and then proceeds to demonstrate, a much better story. . . . This multi-viewpoint narrative structure ends up being spectacularly effective. . . . Immensely satisfying.”
—Open Letters Review\"},{\"id\":\"134369924T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

A new look at an old expedition. A deeply researched history that reads like an adventure story, this is a fresh and in-depth account of Lewis and Clark's travels that includes new perspectives from forgotten figures, with recently discovered materials and 32 full-color photographs.

\"},{\"id\":\"125976312T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

A fresh and in-depth look at the Lewis and Clark expedition, drawing from new documents and accounts that shed light on the major historical event.

\"},{\"id\":\"118931907T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Craig Fehrman, a journalist and historian, spent five years writing and researching This Vast Enterprise, a New York Times bestseller. His first book, Author in Chief, was described by The Wall Street Journal as “one of the best books on the American presidency to appear in recent years.” Fehrman lives in Indiana with his wife and children.

\"},{\"id\":\"113389867T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Craig Fehrman, a journalist and historian, spent five years writing and researching This Vast Enterprise. His first book, Author in Chief, was described by Thomas Mallon in The Wall Street Journal as “one of the best books on the American presidency to appear in recent years.” Fehrman lives in Indiana with his wife and children.\"},{\"id\":\"135663679T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

Craig Fehrman, a journalist and historian, spent five years writing and researching This Vast Enterprise, a New York Times bestseller. His first book, Author in Chief, was described by The Wall Street Journal as \\\"one of the best books on the American presidency to appear in recent years.\\\" Fehrman lives in Indiana with his wife and children.

\"},{\"id\":\"129668488T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"

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Craig Fehrman, a journalist and historian, spent five years writing and researching This Vast Enterprise. His first book, Author in Chief, was described by Thomas Mallon in The Wall Street Journal as \\\"one of the best books on the American presidency to appear in recent years.\\\" Fehrman lives in Indiana with his wife and children.

\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/41633383645425","gid://shopify/Metafield/41633382826225","gid://shopify/Metafield/41633383547121","gid://shopify/Metafield/41633383088369","[{\"contributorId\":13119548,\"fullName\":\"Craig Fehrman\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",[6781],{"_148":6782,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":-5,"_3716":6783,"_5881":6784,"_5883":6785,"_5885":6786,"_5887":6738,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46290135220465",{"_148":6788,"_144":6789,"_5898":-5,"_3989":6731,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":6732,"_5894":5895},{"_76":6737,"_41":6738},[6787],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/47499916804337","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781982174248_p0.jpg?v=1789044373",{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6732,"_5894":5895},"dc1c7b0d40c1",{"_4767":6796,"_119":120,"_56":4939,"_61":4940,"_345":-5,"_144":6797},"The Best Fiction Books of 2026",[6799,6800,6801,6802,6803],{"_48":139,"_143":10,"_144":6798},"https://www.barnesandnoble.com/blog/the-best-fiction-of-2026",{"_5792":5793,"_148":7042,"_76":7043,"_5796":5797,"_41":7044,"_53":7045,"_5800":7046,"_5802":7047,"_5804":7048,"_5806":17,"_5807":7049,"_5809":7050,"_79":7051,"_5812":7052,"_5814":7053,"_5816":-5,"_5817":7054},{"_5792":5793,"_148":6980,"_76":6981,"_5796":5797,"_41":6982,"_53":6983,"_5800":6984,"_5802":6985,"_5804":6986,"_5806":17,"_5807":6987,"_5809":6988,"_79":6989,"_5812":6990,"_5814":6991,"_5816":-5,"_5817":6992},{"_5792":5793,"_148":6921,"_76":6922,"_5796":5797,"_41":6923,"_53":6924,"_5800":6925,"_5802":6926,"_5804":6927,"_5806":17,"_5807":6928,"_5809":6929,"_79":6930,"_5812":6931,"_5814":6932,"_5816":-5,"_5817":6933},{"_5792":5793,"_148":6864,"_76":6865,"_5796":5797,"_41":6866,"_53":6867,"_5800":6868,"_5802":6869,"_5804":6870,"_5806":17,"_5807":6871,"_5809":6872,"_79":6873,"_5812":6874,"_5814":6875,"_5816":-5,"_5817":6876},{"_5792":5793,"_148":6804,"_76":6805,"_5796":5797,"_41":6806,"_53":6807,"_5800":6808,"_5802":6809,"_5804":6810,"_5806":17,"_5807":6811,"_5809":6812,"_79":6813,"_5812":6814,"_5814":6815,"_5816":-5,"_5817":6816},"gid://shopify/Product/9047948001521","Last Night in Brooklyn: A Novel","9781250372031","A NATIONAL BEST SELLERNAMED A MOST ANTICIPATED BOOK OF 2026 BY TIME, OPRAH DAILY, USA TODAY, PEOPLE, ELECTRIC LIT, HARPER'S BAZAAR, VULTURE, LITHUB, BOOK RIOT, PUBLISHER'S WEEKLY, THE BOSTON GLOBE, TOWN & COUNTRY, SHE READS, LIBRARY JOURNAL, AND MORE!New York Times bestselling author Xochitl Gonzalez delivers a captivating story about a young woman whose life becomes ensnared in her glamorous neighbor’s secret pastSPRING, 2007At twenty-six, Alicia Canales Forten feels smothered by her future. She’s in a long-distance relationship, living at home with her mother’s beliefs, saving up for her wedding to a future doctor. But after Alicia ventures out one night in the neighborhood of Fort Greene, Brooklyn, she finds herself lured by the siren song of youth and possibility that the striving crowd of creatives holds, and moves in.No one embodies this milieu more than La Garza, a larger-than-life, up-and-coming fashion designer whose epic house parties fuel neighborhood lore. La Garza’s life, observed by Alicia from her apartment across the street, seems to hold the allure and fearlessness Alicia has never dared to imagine for herself.But when Alicia’s wealthy banker cousin moves to the neighborhood, she finds herself increasingly drawn into both his and La Garza’s precarious lives.Against the backdrop of a potentially life-changing presidential election and a looming once-in-a-generation fiscal crisis, Last Night in Brooklyn explores the dark compromise of the American Dream for people of color living, unknowingly, in the twilight of a cultural moment. It is a story about everything money can buy—and the destruction of what it can’t.","

A NATIONAL BEST SELLER

NAMED A MOST ANTICIPATED BOOK OF 2026 BY TIME, OPRAH DAILY, USA TODAY, PEOPLE, ELECTRIC LIT, HARPER'S BAZAAR, VULTURE, LITHUB, BOOK RIOT, PUBLISHER'S WEEKLY, THE BOSTON GLOBE, TOWN & COUNTRY, SHE READS, LIBRARY JOURNAL, AND MORE!

New York Times bestselling author Xochitl Gonzalez delivers a captivating story about a young woman whose life becomes ensnared in her glamorous neighbor’s secret past

SPRING, 2007

At twenty-six, Alicia Canales Forten feels smothered by her future. She’s in a long-distance relationship, living at home with her mother’s beliefs, saving up for her wedding to a future doctor. But after Alicia ventures out one night in the neighborhood of Fort Greene, Brooklyn, she finds herself lured by the siren song of youth and possibility that the striving crowd of creatives holds, and moves in.

No one embodies this milieu more than La Garza, a larger-than-life, up-and-coming fashion designer whose epic house parties fuel neighborhood lore. La Garza’s life, observed by Alicia from her apartment across the street, seems to hold the allure and fearlessness Alicia has never dared to imagine for herself.

But when Alicia’s wealthy banker cousin moves to the neighborhood, she finds herself increasingly drawn into both his and La Garza’s precarious lives.

Against the backdrop of a potentially life-changing presidential election and a looming once-in-a-generation fiscal crisis, Last Night in Brooklyn explores the dark compromise of the American Dream for people of color living, unknowingly, in the twilight of a cultural moment. It is a story about everything money can buy—and the destruction of what it can’t.

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Praise for Last Night in Brooklyn

\\\"Part love letter to New York's Black and Latinx communities, part historical record of Brooklyn's Fort Greene neighborhood pre-gentrification, Gonzalez follows up on her New York Times- bestselling book Olga Dies Dreaming with a novel that is both witty and deeply sincere.\\\"
--Bustle

\\\"Last Night in Brooklyn is a bittersweet fever dream of a novel -- a sticky summer something that sits somewhere between a telenovela and Succession. For 26-year-old Brooklyn native Alicia Canales Forten, observing the life of her glamorous and enigmatic...Xochitl Gonzalez's prose is warm enough to seduce but cool enough to rip it all away -- lest any of us gets too comfortable looking into the proverbial neighbor's window. A truly gorgeous read!\\\"
--Ivy Buck, NPR

\\\"Last Night in Brooklyn is an immersive story about standing at the edge of your life and realizing how quickly the ground can move under you.\\\"
--Apple Books

\\\"Gonzalez's latest novel brings the enclave of Fort Greene, Brooklyn, to brilliant light. The author of Olga Dies Dreaming and Anita de Monte Laughs Last is a master at shaping distinct characters that leave an indelible impression on each other and themselves. Exploring potential, obligation, and living out your wildest dreams, this is literary fiction at its most evocative.\\\"
--Harper's Bazaar

\\\"Since her bestselling debut Olga Dies Dreaming, Gonzalez has established herself as one of our sharpest chroniclers of ambition, class, and the hidden costs of \\\"making it.\\\"
--Oprah Daily

\\\"A vibrant coming-of-age story set in Brooklyn in 2007, this novel follows Alicia Canales Forten and her obsession with her alluring neighbor, La Garza. Gonzalez captures the energy of a neighborhood shaped by gentrification and a nation on the brink of financial ruin.\\\"
--The Boston Globe

\\\"New York Times bestselling author Xochitl Gonzalez delivers a captivating story about a young woman whose life becomes ensnared in her glamorous neighbor's secret past, laying bare the mounting tensions at play in a rapidly gentrifying, early 2000's Fort Greene, Brooklyn.\\\"
--Nerd Daily

\\\"[Gonzalez's] bracing point of view animates a propulsive storyline strung with memorable characters...Brilliant party scenes, tart dialogue, and dramatic plot developments further enrich this gripping work, another step forward for the talented Gonzalez. Smart, tough-minded, and passionate: a pleasure from start to finish.\\\"
--Kirkus (starred review)

\\\"This is a fantastic meditation on a very particular moment in Brooklyn history\\\"
--Julia Rittenberg, Book Riot

\\\"Xochitl Gonzalez really knows how to render time and place, and this novel takes you back to Brooklyn in 2007 on the verge of massive change. It promises a story of class and gentrification and imagining different lives, and also a story about being a person who knows people in a way that feels valuable.\\\"
--Lithub

\\\"This novel challenges the life that money can buy and the compromises of fiscal assimilation for people of color chasing the 'American Dream.'\\\"
--Electric Lit

\\\"With fascinating characters, rapid-fire dialogue, poignant backstories, sexy and dangerous relationships, excruciating and sardonically funny situations, sharp psychological and social insights, vibrant descriptions, abrupt shifts, showdowns, and revelations, this is an all-the-way-live novel of dreams, anguish, vengeance, and liberation.\\\"
--Booklist (starred review)

\\\"The Brooklyn story I've been waiting for, replete with all the glamor, stakes, and capital D drama of a modern Great Gatsby. No one writes about ambition, money, class, and the cost of survival in a world driven by profit over people quite like Gonzalez. Equally, no one captures joy, community, and the sweetness of belonging like her either. Thrillingly alive and electrically entertaining from start to finish, Last Night in Brooklyn is a triumph.\\\" --Coco Mellors, New York Times bestselling author of Blue Sisters

\\\"Xochitl's Gonzalez's pages are packed full of the splendor and vertigo of split identities and divided allegiances, which marks her and her book as Brooklyn to the bone. A student of urban betrayal and communal memory, she not only knows where the bodies are buried, she knows how to make them get up and dance again.\\\"
--Jonathan Lethem, author of Motherless Brooklyn and A Different Kind of Tension

\\\"It is a treat to read Xochitl Gonzalez, who writes with intimacy, immediacy, and singular charm that seizes you from the first page and never lets go. Last Night in Brooklyn is a stunning achievement: The Great Gatsby reimagined for Black and brown Brooklyn, elegantly evocative and chattily profound. It is at once an exploration into the cost of ambition, a loving portrait of the people and places we are always on the verge of losing, and a fitting elegy for what is already gone.\\\"
--Rachel Khong, New York Times Bestselling author of Real Americans

\\\"Xochitl Gonzalez invites us into a world of fame and fashion, money and power, ambition and jealousy, love and heartbreak, all set against the backdrop of a Brooklyn rendered with aching beauty and shimmering detail. A thrilling portrait of a city, a country, and a group of friends all teetering at the edge of seismic transformation.\\\"
--Nathan Hill, New York Times bestselling author of Wellness and The Nix

\"},{\"id\":\"115857764T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

Praise for Last Night in Brooklyn

\\\"Part love letter to New York’s Black and Latinx communities, part historical record of Brooklyn’s Fort Greene neighborhood pre-gentrification, Gonzalez follows up on her New York Times- bestselling book Olga Dies Dreaming with a novel that is both witty and deeply sincere.\\\"
—Bustle

\\\"Last Night in Brooklyn is a bittersweet fever dream of a novel — a sticky summer something that sits somewhere between a telenovela and Succession. For 26-year-old Brooklyn native Alicia Canales Forten, observing the life of her glamorous and enigmatic...Xochitl Gonzalez's prose is warm enough to seduce but cool enough to rip it all away — lest any of us gets too comfortable looking into the proverbial neighbor's window. A truly gorgeous read!\\\"
—Ivy Buck, NPR

\\\"Last Night in Brooklyn is an immersive story about standing at the edge of your life and realizing how quickly the ground can move under you.\\\"
—Apple Books

\\\"Gonzalez’s latest novel brings the enclave of Fort Greene, Brooklyn, to brilliant light. The author of Olga Dies Dreaming and Anita de Monte Laughs Last is a master at shaping distinct characters that leave an indelible impression on each other and themselves. Exploring potential, obligation, and living out your wildest dreams, this is literary fiction at its most evocative.\\\"
—Harper's Bazaar

\\\"Since her bestselling debut Olga Dies Dreaming, Gonzalez has established herself as one of our sharpest chroniclers of ambition, class, and the hidden costs of “making it.”
—Oprah Daily

\\\"A vibrant coming-of-age story set in Brooklyn in 2007, this novel follows Alicia Canales Forten and her obsession with her alluring neighbor, La Garza. Gonzalez captures the energy of a neighborhood shaped by gentrification and a nation on the brink of financial ruin.\\\"
—The Boston Globe

\\\"New York Times bestselling author Xochitl Gonzalez delivers a captivating story about a young woman whose life becomes ensnared in her glamorous neighbor’s secret past, laying bare the mounting tensions at play in a rapidly gentrifying, early 2000’s Fort Greene, Brooklyn.\\\"
—Nerd Daily

\\\"[Gonzalez's] bracing point of view animates a propulsive storyline strung with memorable characters...Brilliant party scenes, tart dialogue, and dramatic plot developments further enrich this gripping work, another step forward for the talented Gonzalez. Smart, tough-minded, and passionate: a pleasure from start to finish.\\\"
—Kirkus (starred review)

\\\"This is a fantastic meditation on a very particular moment in Brooklyn history\\\"
—Julia Rittenberg, Book Riot

\\\"Xochitl Gonzalez really knows how to render time and place, and this novel takes you back to Brooklyn in 2007 on the verge of massive change. It promises a story of class and gentrification and imagining different lives, and also a story about being a person who knows people in a way that feels valuable.\\\"
—Lithub

\\\"This novel challenges the life that money can buy and the compromises of fiscal assimilation for people of color chasing the 'American Dream.'\\\"
—Electric Lit

\\\"With fascinating characters, rapid-fire dialogue, poignant backstories, sexy and dangerous relationships, excruciating and sardonically funny situations, sharp psychological and social insights, vibrant descriptions, abrupt shifts, showdowns, and revelations, this is an all-the-way-live novel of dreams, anguish, vengeance, and liberation.\\\"
—Booklist (starred review)

\\\"The Brooklyn story I've been waiting for, replete with all the glamor, stakes, and capital D drama of a modern Great Gatsby. No one writes about ambition, money, class, and the cost of survival in a world driven by profit over people quite like Gonzalez. Equally, no one captures joy, community, and the sweetness of belonging like her either. Thrillingly alive and electrically entertaining from start to finish, Last Night in Brooklyn is a triumph.\\\" —Coco Mellors, New York Times bestselling author of Blue Sisters

\\\"Xochitl’s Gonzalez’s pages are packed full of the splendor and vertigo of split identities and divided allegiances, which marks her and her book as Brooklyn to the bone. A student of urban betrayal and communal memory, she not only knows where the bodies are buried, she knows how to make them get up and dance again.”
—Jonathan Lethem, author of Motherless Brooklyn and A Different Kind of Tension

“It is a treat to read Xochitl Gonzalez, who writes with intimacy, immediacy, and singular charm that seizes you from the first page and never lets go. Last Night in Brooklyn is a stunning achievement: The Great Gatsby reimagined for Black and brown Brooklyn, elegantly evocative and chattily profound. It is at once an exploration into the cost of ambition, a loving portrait of the people and places we are always on the verge of losing, and a fitting elegy for what is already gone.”
—Rachel Khong, New York Times Bestselling author of Real Americans

\\\"Xochitl Gonzalez invites us into a world of fame and fashion, money and power, ambition and jealousy, love and heartbreak, all set against the backdrop of a Brooklyn rendered with aching beauty and shimmering detail. A thrilling portrait of a city, a country, and a group of friends all teetering at the edge of seismic transformation.\\\"
—Nathan Hill, New York Times bestselling author of Wellness and The Nix

\"},{\"id\":\"121245410T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

In 2007, on the cusp of her thirties, Alicia faces her future with uncertainty in this stunning examination of ambition, desire, and the struggles of growing up.

\"},{\"id\":\"114855274T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Xochitl Gonzalez is the New York Times bestselling author of the award-winning novel Olga Dies Dreaming and the Reese’s Book Club Pick Anita de Monte Laughs Last. She is a contributor to The Atlantic, where she was recognized as a 2023 Pulitzer Prize finalist in Commentary. A native Brooklynite and proud public school graduate, Gonzalez holds a BA from Brown University and an MFA from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop.

\"},{\"id\":\"112299841T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Xochitl Gonzalez is the New York Times bestselling author of Anita de Monte Laughs Last, a Reese's Book Club Pick longlisted for the Aspen Words Literary Prize, and the award-winning Olga Dies Dreaming, named a Best of 2022 by The New York Times, TIME, Kirkus, the Washington Post, and NPR. Gonzalez is a staff writer for The Atlantic and was recognized as a 2023 Pulitzer Prize finalist in Commentary. A native Brooklynite and proud public school graduate, Gonzalez holds a BA from Brown University and an MFA from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop.\"},{\"id\":\"125471054T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/49406377951473","gid://shopify/Metafield/49406376837361","gid://shopify/Metafield/49406377853169","gid://shopify/Metafield/49406377328881","[{\"contributorId\":23185600,\"fullName\":\"Xochitl Gonzalez\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",[6851],{"_148":6852,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":-5,"_3716":6853,"_5881":6854,"_5883":6855,"_5885":6856,"_5887":6806,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46469233967345",{"_148":6859,"_144":6860,"_5898":-5,"_3989":6731,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":6858,"_5894":5895},{"_76":6805,"_41":6806},[6857],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"27.99","gid://shopify/ProductImage/47613885546737","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781250372031_p0.jpg?v=1765214841",{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6858,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/9450385277169","The Disappearers: A Novel","9780593717202","AN INSTANT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLERSHORTLISTED FOR THE 2026 BOOKER PRIZELONGLISTED FOR THE 2026 NATIONAL BOOK AWARD FOR FICTION“This masterpiece is the novel of the decade, if not the century... The Disappearers places [James] near the front of the line, a decade or two from now, for the Nobel Prize.” –The New York Times“Harrowing, hilarious, magnificent …this novel will be read decades from now, pored over in seminars and bookmarked on subway commutes … [James’] defiant queer epic belongs to us all.” –The Boston Globe“Among Marlon James’s most ambitious and history-making works… James is a singular literary talent.” –Booker Prize judge's citationFrom Marlon James, author of the Booker Prize–winning A Brief History of Seven Killings: the electrifying story of the murder of a gay man in 1980s Jamaica and its far-reaching consequencesIn 1988, eight men in Kingston, Jamaica, begin rehearsals for a play. Though strangers to one another, they share an inescapable truth: All of them are gay. And they live in a world that refuses to accept them.One night the men are savagely beaten and one of them is killed. As their bodies heal, the survivors begin to face the hatred and contempt that the violence laid bare. Some try to ignore what happened. Others double down on retribution. Some disappear completely.In this spellbinding novel, Marlon James has written a propulsive crime story that is also a deeply human account of connection and acceptance. Full of fascinating characters, biting humor, and unapologetic sex, The Disappearers is both a thrilling page-turner and a finely etched portrait of queer life.","AN INSTANT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

SHORTLISTED FOR THE 2026 BOOKER PRIZE

LONGLISTED FOR THE 2026 NATIONAL BOOK AWARD FOR FICTION

“This masterpiece is the novel of the decade, if not the century... The Disappearers places [James] near the front of the line, a decade or two from now, for the Nobel Prize.” –The New York Times

“Harrowing, hilarious, magnificent …this novel will be read decades from now, pored over in seminars and bookmarked on subway commutes … [James’] defiant queer epic belongs to us all.” –The Boston Globe

“Among Marlon James’s most ambitious and history-making works… James is a singular literary talent.” –Booker Prize judge's citation

From Marlon James, author of the Booker Prize–winning A Brief History of Seven Killings: the electrifying story of the murder of a gay man in 1980s Jamaica and its far-reaching consequences

In 1988, eight men in Kingston, Jamaica, begin rehearsals for a play. Though strangers to one another, they share an inescapable truth: All of them are gay. And they live in a world that refuses to accept them.

One night the men are savagely beaten and one of them is killed. As their bodies heal, the survivors begin to face the hatred and contempt that the violence laid bare. Some try to ignore what happened. Others double down on retribution. Some disappear completely.

In this spellbinding novel, Marlon James has written a propulsive crime story that is also a deeply human account of connection and acceptance. Full of fascinating characters, biting humor, and unapologetic sex, The Disappearers is both a thrilling page-turner and a finely etched portrait of queer life.",{"_148":6916,"_144":6917,"_3989":6731,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":6920},{"_5902":6918,"_5904":6919},{"_5873":6908},{"_5838":6895},{"_5838":6866},{"_5838":5797},[6877,-5,-5,6878,6879,-5,6880,6881,6882,6883,6884,-5,6885,6886,-5,6887,6888,6889],{"_148":6906,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":6907},{"_148":6905,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6904,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6903,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":6901,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":6902},{"_148":6899,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":6900},{"_148":6897,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":6898},{"_148":6896,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":6894,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":6895},{"_148":6893,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":6866},{"_148":6892,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":6891,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":5841},{"_148":6890,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":3796},"gid://shopify/Metafield/93688645353713","gid://shopify/Metafield/93688645386481","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697803985137","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697802248433","gid://shopify/Metafield/75831257202929","[\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"B|Bestseller|#007C6C (p7858)\",\"Recently Reviewed (p10276)\",\"Bonus $10 Reward on Our Favorite Books (p10710)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\",\"BADGE - Best Seller (p7883)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697803886833","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697802739953","1149150233","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697804214513","The-Disappearers/Marlon-James","gid://shopify/Metafield/75698596446449","[{\"id\":\"127666075T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Praise for The Disappearers

“Like such towering modern novelists as Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Toni Morrison, Roberto Bolano and Elena Ferrante, James uses physical violence to explore social violence, the structures of oppression that its victims must fight to survive.”—NPR Fresh Air

“Among James’s best work alongside A Brief History of Seven Killings and Moon Witch, Spider King… another sprawling, visceral epic.” —Esquire

“It’s part page-turning crime novel, part touching ode to queer friendship and absolutely stunning. James’s latest masterpiece should be required reading.” —People

“Told through a number of different media, including journals, letters, and a chorus of frenzied voices that are punctuated by slang, the effect is evocative and chilling. An explosive read, brimming with rage.” —Elle

“Epic, immersive, and devastating … The Disappearers isn’t without hope, and not everyone who reckons with its central injustice will be destroyed by it. How could a novel so crammed with the painful messiness of identity and rage and carnality ever reach a satisfying resolution? The masterstroke of The Disappearers is that James lands the finish, a feat of generosity, compassion, and, as with the rest of this unforgettable book, unconquerable bravado.” —Slate

“Marlon James’s story of gay experience and murderous homophobia in Jamaica is a maximalist’s banquet — and the Booker Prize winner’s finest book yet… The Disappearers places him near the front of the line, a decade or two from now, for the Nobel Prize.” —The New York Times

“The Disappearers uses the tricks of fiction to pull off something extremely difficult: giving full weight to tragedy and injustice without implying that some lives are over before they’ve begun.” —The New Yorker

“A harrowing, hilarious, magnificent novel that will stand the test of time… Like Whitman, James is a lover of detail and a poet of the body: he dwells on lips, shoulders, chests, and all points south. He ranks among our greatest vernacular authors, rendering most of The Disappearers in an English creole thick with lewd jokes and profanity… This novel will be read decades from now, pored over in seminars and bookmarked on subway commutes… As the disappearers emerge in human form, James mourns those lost to plague and violence while offering sprigs of hope. His defiant queer epic belongs to us all.”—The Boston Globe

\\\"The unrelentingly raw and profane vision is enlivened by the energy of the writing, and in particular its infusions of Jamaican slang. Mr. James does not simply reproduce the island’s singular patois; he uses it to create abrasive auditory rhythms.”–The Wall Street Journal

“Few books have mapped the beleaguered realities of queer existence with such psychological depth, harrowing realism and searing condemnation … James makes room for the contradictions of queer life, its intimacies, estrangements and hungers, in utterly indelible ways. His prose is a consistent triumph: bitter and hilarious, lyrical, bawdy, pugnacious and scorchingly, ravishingly queer.” —The Guardian

“The Disappearers is a harrowing book, to be sure, but never nihilist, or defeatist, or cynical. Its joy in ultimate survival comes through.” —The Atlantic

“James is also determined to unwind the cliches of gay fiction… he in part evokes Alan Hollinghurst… The strength of the novel — and the source of its melancholy tone — is in its scope.”—Los Angeles Times

“Wickedly funny, at times sexy, and full of longing.”—Harper's Bazaar

“Hard to put down… A good book can lift your spirits, brighten your day or add some spice to a dull life, but the truly great books change how you think, what you see and, hopefully, how you live. The Disappearers is one of those.” —Book Page (starred review)

“Breathtaking … an ambitious and astonishing portrait of queer life.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

“This language-rich novel is filled with vivid slang … As always, James writes exceptionally well….This book may remind readers of works by John Rechy, Jean Genet, William Burroughs, and Hubert Selby, but James is his own man.” —Library Journal (starred review)

“Galvanizing … Equal parts detective story and sociocultural history, James’ new novel takes a deep, harrowing dive into the tragic consequences of violent homophobia … with random, frantic voices that leave unsettling echoes.” —Kirkus (starred review)

“Captivating and epic… James renders his characters’ tumultuous inner lives with striking imagery and energy; their dialogue is rapid, keen, and hard-hitting. In all, a gritty, powerful, and gripping read.” —Booklist
\"},{\"id\":\"130456907T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Praise for The Disappearers

\\\"Like such towering modern novelists as Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Toni Morrison, Roberto Bolano and Elena Ferrante, James uses physical violence to explore social violence, the structures of oppression that its victims must fight to survive.\\\"--NPR Fresh Air

\\\"Among James's best work alongside A Brief History of Seven Killings and Moon Witch, Spider King... another sprawling, visceral epic.\\\" --Esquire

\\\"It's part page-turning crime novel, part touching ode to queer friendship and absolutely stunning. James's latest masterpiece should be required reading.\\\" --People

\\\"Told through a number of different media, including journals, letters, and a chorus of frenzied voices that are punctuated by slang, the effect is evocative and chilling. An explosive read, brimming with rage.\\\" --Elle

\\\"Epic, immersive, and devastating ... The Disappearers isn't without hope, and not everyone who reckons with its central injustice will be destroyed by it. How could a novel so crammed with the painful messiness of identity and rage and carnality ever reach a satisfying resolution? The masterstroke of The Disappearers is that James lands the finish, a feat of generosity, compassion, and, as with the rest of this unforgettable book, unconquerable bravado.\\\" --Slate

\\\"Marlon James's story of gay experience and murderous homophobia in Jamaica is a maximalist's banquet -- and the Booker Prize winner's finest book yet... The Disappearers places him near the front of the line, a decade or two from now, for the Nobel Prize.\\\" --The New York Times

\\\"The Disappearers uses the tricks of fiction to pull off something extremely difficult: giving full weight to tragedy and injustice without implying that some lives are over before they've begun.\\\" --The New Yorker

\\\"A harrowing, hilarious, magnificent novel that will stand the test of time... Like Whitman, James is a lover of detail and a poet of the body: he dwells on lips, shoulders, chests, and all points south. He ranks among our greatest vernacular authors, rendering most of The Disappearers in an English creole thick with lewd jokes and profanity... This novel will be read decades from now, pored over in seminars and bookmarked on subway commutes... As the disappearers emerge in human form, James mourns those lost to plague and violence while offering sprigs of hope. His defiant queer epic belongs to us all.\\\"--The Boston Globe

\\\"The unrelentingly raw and profane vision is enlivened by the energy of the writing, and in particular its infusions of Jamaican slang. Mr. James does not simply reproduce the island's singular patois; he uses it to create abrasive auditory rhythms.\\\"-The Wall Street Journal

\\\"Few books have mapped the beleaguered realities of queer existence with such psychological depth, harrowing realism and searing condemnation ... James makes room for the contradictions of queer life, its intimacies, estrangements and hungers, in utterly indelible ways. His prose is a consistent triumph: bitter and hilarious, lyrical, bawdy, pugnacious and scorchingly, ravishingly queer.\\\" --The Guardian

\\\"The Disappearers is a harrowing book, to be sure, but never nihilist, or defeatist, or cynical. Its joy in ultimate survival comes through.\\\" --The Atlantic

\\\"James is also determined to unwind the cliches of gay fiction... he in part evokes Alan Hollinghurst... The strength of the novel -- and the source of its melancholy tone -- is in its scope.\\\"--Los Angeles Times

\\\"Wickedly funny, at times sexy, and full of longing.\\\"--Harper's Bazaar

\\\"Hard to put down... A good book can lift your spirits, brighten your day or add some spice to a dull life, but the truly great books change how you think, what you see and, hopefully, how you live. The Disappearers is one of those.\\\" --Book Page (starred review)

\\\"Breathtaking ... an ambitious and astonishing portrait of queer life.\\\" --Publishers Weekly (starred review)

\\\"This language-rich novel is filled with vivid slang ... As always, James writes exceptionally well....This book may remind readers of works by John Rechy, Jean Genet, William Burroughs, and Hubert Selby, but James is his own man.\\\" --Library Journal (starred review)

\\\"Galvanizing ... Equal parts detective story and sociocultural history, James' new novel takes a deep, harrowing dive into the tragic consequences of violent homophobia ... with random, frantic voices that leave unsettling echoes.\\\" --Kirkus (starred review)

\\\"Captivating and epic... James renders his characters' tumultuous inner lives with striking imagery and energy; their dialogue is rapid, keen, and hard-hitting. In all, a gritty, powerful, and gripping read.\\\" --Booklist
\"},{\"id\":\"131297460T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

The author of the Booker Prize-winning A Brief History of Seven Killings returns with a deeply human story exploring queer life in Jamaica during the 1980s and 1990s.

\"},{\"id\":\"122620053T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Marlon James is the Booker Prize–winning and New York Times bestselling author of A Brief History of Seven Killings; the bestselling and National Book Award finalist Black Leopard, Red Wolf; as well as the bestselling Moon Witch, Spider King; The Book of Night Women; and John Crow’s Devil. In addition to the Booker Prize, James’s novels have won the American Book Award, the Anisfield-Wolf Book Award, the Dayton Literary Peace Prize, the OCM Bocas Prize for Caribbean Literature, and the Los Angeles Times Ray Bradbury Prize for Science Fiction, and have been finalists for the National Book Critics Circle Award and the NAACP Image Award. The recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship and named in 2019 one of Time magazine’s one hundred most influential people in the world, James lives in New York City.

\"},{\"id\":\"132028993T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

Marlon James is the Booker Prize-winning and New York Times bestselling author of A Brief History of Seven Killings; the bestselling and National Book Award finalist Black Leopard, Red Wolf; as well as the bestselling Moon Witch, Spider King; The Book of Night Women; and John Crow's Devil. In addition to the Booker Prize, James's novels have won the American Book Award, the Anisfield-Wolf Book Award, the Dayton Literary Peace Prize, the OCM Bocas Prize for Caribbean Literature, and the Los Angeles Times Ray Bradbury Prize for Science Fiction, and have been finalists for the National Book Critics Circle Award and the NAACP Image Award. The recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship and named in 2019 one of Time magazine's one hundred most influential people in the world, James lives in New York City.

\"},{\"id\":\"133157769T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

\"},{\"id\":\"133249849T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"

\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697803952369","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697802805489","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697803919601","gid://shopify/Metafield/75697803755761","[{\"contributorId\":4745225,\"fullName\":\"Marlon James\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",[6909],{"_148":6910,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":-5,"_3716":6911,"_5881":6912,"_5883":6913,"_5885":6914,"_5887":6866,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47726983381233",{"_148":6916,"_144":6917,"_5898":-5,"_3989":6731,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":6728,"_5894":5895},{"_76":6865,"_41":6866},[6915],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/48666558955761","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9780593717202_p0.jpg?v=1791342424",{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6728,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/9226309435633","Go Gentle (Oprah's Book Club)","9798217176632","AN INSTANT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER * OPRAH'S BOOK CLUB * \"For all those who crave a good page-turner, this is one wild ride of a story that carries equal parts wit and wisdom. I learned so much about Stoicism-I laughed out loud for real. And underneath the humor there was always something tender . . . a quiet truth about relationships, identity, and what it means to find peace with yourself.\"-OPRAH WINFREY \"Maria Semple is a treasure.\" -Los Angeles Times The New York Times bestselling author of Where'd You Go, Bernadette returns to form in her most exuberant and life-affirming novel yet with the story of one woman's cheerful determination to live a life of the mind only to have the heart force its way in.Maria Semple, author of the global sensation Where'd You Go, Bernadette returns with her most exuberant and life affirming novel yet. Adora Hazzard has it all figured out. A Stoic philosopher and divorcée, she lives a contented life on New York City's Upper West Side. Having discovered that the secret to happiness is to desire only what you have, she's applied this insight to blissful effect: relishing her teenage daughter, the freedom of being single, and her job as a moral tutor for the twin boys of an old-money family. She's even assembled a \"coven\"-like-minded women who live on the same floor in the legendary Ansonia. Adora's carefully curated life is humming along brilliantly until a chance meeting with a handsome stranger.Soon, her ordered world is upended by black-market art deals, secret rendezvous, and international intrigue . . . and her past-which she has worked so hard to bury-lands like a bomb in her present. Inflamed by unquenchable desire, Adora finds herself a woman wanting more: and she'll risk everything to get it.Romantic, hilarious, intelligent, and bursting with the stuff of life, Go Gentle is a thrilling story of one woman's midlife transformation, cementing Maria Semple in the pantheon of our most exciting and important contemporary writers.","AN INSTANT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER * OPRAH'S BOOK CLUB * \"For all those who crave a good page-turner, this is one wild ride of a story that carries equal parts wit and wisdom. I learned so much about Stoicism-I laughed out loud for real. And underneath the humor there was always something tender . . . a quiet truth about relationships, identity, and what it means to find peace with yourself.\"-OPRAH WINFREY

\"Maria Semple is a treasure.\" -Los Angeles Times

The New York Times bestselling author of Where'd You Go, Bernadette returns to form in her most exuberant and life-affirming novel yet with the story of one woman's cheerful determination to live a life of the mind only to have the heart force its way in.

Maria Semple, author of the global sensation Where'd You Go, Bernadette returns with her most exuberant and life affirming novel yet.

Adora Hazzard has it all figured out. A Stoic philosopher and divorcée, she lives a contented life on New York City's Upper West Side. Having discovered that the secret to happiness is to desire only what you have, she's applied this insight to blissful effect: relishing her teenage daughter, the freedom of being single, and her job as a moral tutor for the twin boys of an old-money family. She's even assembled a \"coven\"-like-minded women who live on the same floor in the legendary Ansonia. Adora's carefully curated life is humming along brilliantly until a chance meeting with a handsome stranger.

Soon, her ordered world is upended by black-market art deals, secret rendezvous, and international intrigue . . . and her past-which she has worked so hard to bury-lands like a bomb in her present. Inflamed by unquenchable desire, Adora finds herself a woman wanting more: and she'll risk everything to get it.

Romantic, hilarious, intelligent, and bursting with the stuff of life, Go Gentle is a thrilling story of one woman's midlife transformation, cementing Maria Semple in the pantheon of our most exciting and important contemporary writers.",{"_148":6975,"_144":6976,"_3989":6671,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":6979},{"_5902":6977,"_5904":6978},{"_5873":6967},{"_5838":6954},{"_5838":6923},{"_5838":5797},[6934,-5,-5,6935,6936,-5,6937,6938,6939,6940,6941,-5,6942,6943,-5,6944,6945,6946],{"_148":6965,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":6966},{"_148":6964,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6963,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":6962,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":6960,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":6961},{"_148":6958,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":6959},{"_148":6956,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":6957},{"_148":6955,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":6953,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":6954},{"_148":6952,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":6923},{"_148":6951,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":6949,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":6950},{"_148":6947,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":6948},"gid://shopify/Metafield/81673245556977","65","gid://shopify/Metafield/81673245589745","{\"scale_min\":\"1.0\",\"scale_max\":\"5.0\",\"value\":\"3.8\"}","gid://shopify/Metafield/58684512010481","gid://shopify/Metafield/58684511092977","gid://shopify/Metafield/61708938903793","[\"Celebrate Women's History Month (p10585)\",\"The Most Anticipated Books of 2026 (p10335)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Mother's Day Gifts (p3894)\",\"Top Books for Your Summer Reading List (p7187)\",\"Summer Reading (p5957)\",\"Bonus $10 Reward on Our Favorite Books (p10710)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\",\"Spring into Reading (p5839)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/58684511912177","gid://shopify/Metafield/58684511584497","1147869474","gid://shopify/Metafield/58684512239857","Go-Gentle/Maria-Semple","gid://shopify/Metafield/58737163206897","[{\"id\":\"127361799T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"I slid the fried egg-extra crispy, embedded with cracked pink peppercorns-onto a nest of baby arugula centered atop a slice of toasted sourdough. I sharpened my paring knife with a few satisfying slashes and sliced four cornichons thin enough for light to pass through. Those I placed across the warm egg, chevron-style. I capped it all off with a second piece of toast, this one thick with lemon aioli.Or: I made a fried egg sandwich.But how you do anything is how you do everything, and one might say my life's work has been chasing the Platonic ideal.Viv appeared wearing that day's iteration of short-shorts, baby tee and sneakers. Her alarm had gone off at six. Evidence indicated she'd devoted the past hour to awesome lashes and beachy waves.\\\"Good morning!\\\" I couldn't help but sing out.Gorgeous, shallow creature, Viv! Reliably irritable, bereft of interests. Scroller, consumer, influencee. That Fate gave me Viv as a daughter provides a daily fountain of dismay and delight.I encased the sandwich in glass, snapped shut the lid and presented it to Viv. She looked down and back up in dawning, victimized bewilderment.\\\"I'm not shivving you,\\\" I pointed out. \\\"I'm handing you your favorite sandwich.\\\"\\\"But . . .\\\" she began.\\\"But all my friends go out to lunch? But bringing lunch from home makes me look poor? It's okay, you can say it.\\\"Viv narrowed her eyes, swiped the sandwich and pivoted back down the hall to her room. For punctuation: ye olde door slam.A scrape in the lock. Our dog walker, Ziggy, returning Mr. Man from his morning constitutional.Ziggy, there's a kid: freshman at LaGuardia, he just had three pieces in the student art show. He's a dedicated runner, has a dog-walking business and in his free time is watching all of Bret Easton Ellis's movie recommendations. Added bonus, he's besotted with me.Mr. Man, unclipped from his harness, shot past me and straight to his bowl without a hello.\\\"Hey, Ziggy,\\\" I said, positioning myself outside Viv's room for maximum effect. \\\"How's photography?\\\"Also, as an infant, Ziggy had contracted meningitis, which resulted in progressive hearing loss. He grew up in the building and is a fan favorite. When we learned he was saving for eardrum surgery, we put up flyers in the elevator. Within a week, residents and staff had raised enough for two surgeries; we threw in one for his pal from camp. Not one to let a skill go to waste, Ziggy gets paid princely by gossip sites to lip-read clips of celebrities bad-mouthing other celebrities at awards shows.\\\"Or,\\\" I said, loudly enough for Viv to hear, \\\"is photography on pause because of cross-country?\\\"\\\"I can do both,\\\" Ziggy answered, hopping up and down while standing still, which is his lovestruck way.\\\"How do you find the time? You must never be on your phone.\\\"\\\"You can stop trolling me,\\\" a muffled command from within.\\\"Hey, Viv!\\\" Ziggy stared at the closed door, hanging for a response. None came.Or: maybe it's Viv he's besotted with.Mr. Man, seeing his bowl was sans treat, returned and gave me an abject look.\\\"Don't you worry, Mr. Man,\\\" I said, all cute. \\\"You'll be dead soon enough. We'll all be.\\\"\\\"Oh!\\\" Ziggy said. \\\"Seven-sixteen. I saw them talking in the elevator.\\\"\\\"For real?\\\"Ziggy poked his head into the hallway and indicated they were still there.I whipped the dish towel over my shoulder.At the far end of the hall, a luggage cart-the brass cage type, a remnant from when the Ansonia was New York's grandest hotel-was stacked and strung with Fairway bags.A blonde in her twenties, who I'd seen in the trash room (sweet-faced but notably unfriendly), came out in stocking feet and hoisted a case of IPA onto one knee.\\\"Hi!\\\" I called as I approached. \\\"You're selling your apartment-\\\"At the sight of me, the girl became skittish as a bird.\\\"How did you know?\\\" she half-gasped.\\\"I live down the hall, and-\\\"A handsome man with loose curls and strong captain-of-the-lacrosse-team vibes appeared and stood, shoulders flat against the door frame. At well over six feet, he looked down on me in more ways than one.\\\"Why, hello,\\\" I said, and returned to the girl. \\\"I'd like to talk to you about buying.\\\"\\\"Hold on,\\\" the guy said. \\\"Are you-\\\"\\\"Matt!\\\" the girl whispered. \\\"No-\\\"\\\"-in the coven?\\\" A grin broke out across his cherub-hued face.Mention to one doorman, in passing, that you're starting a coven, and soon the whole building is looking at you askance!I chose to ignore.\\\"We can do it off-market,\\\" I told the girl. \\\"Save you the hassle and stress of listing.\\\"\\\"I'm not really sure,\\\" she said, eyes darting at Matt.\\\"How much?\\\" he asked.\\\"We can get it appraised,\\\" I answered. \\\"If we don't use a realtor, it saves you commission.\\\"\\\"Not bad,\\\" mused Matt. \\\"We'll get back to you.\\\" He tossed a laughing look my way. \\\"Now, if you'll excuse me. Duty calls.\\\"Matt returned to a big screen television. He dove onto the couch, pulling off a midair half-rotation to land him flat on his back and aimed at the TV. This, he unmuted to \\\"Breaking News.\\\"\\\"TERRORISTS HIT THE BRITISH MUSEUM,\\\" read the chyron.\\\". . . No casualties have been reported,\\\" blasted the anchor. \\\"But we can confirm the Rosetta stone has been badly damaged.\\\"I was beginning to reassess my man Matt, the news lover, when the screen went black and switched to a crude animation of the back alleys of Baghdad.Matt clutched a videogame controller with both hands and, elbows dug into his sides, began the grim business of annihilating soldiers, prostitutes and fruit merchants alike.\\\"He's in commercial real estate,\\\" the girl offered, starry-eyed. \\\"We're moving to Phoenix for his job.\\\"\\\"Call me before you decide anything,\\\" I told her. \\\"I can think of five people who'd be interested.\\\"Just inside, I spotted a Sharpie on the counter. I popped in and wrote my number on a jumbo bag of Cool Ranch Doritos.\\\"Wait!\\\" said the girl, as I turned to go. \\\"Are you saying that the coven . . .\\\" She was doing some kind of math.\\\"Yes?\\\"\\\"Has a waitlist?\\\"Inside her apartment, Matt (shoes-on, doing the couch luge) was gunning people down with an intensity I reckoned he never applied to learning her love language. A statement bong dominated the coffee table. Meanwhile, out in the hallway, bag handles had begun to cut off circulation to his beloved's ringless fingers.\\\"You'll see,\\\" I said.I entered Central Park at Seventy-Second Street with amazement that this was my route to work. Even after five years, I took in the city with the mawkish wonder of a recent arrival. On the upside, tourists never stopped me to ask directions. On the downside, I tripped and fell more than your average New Yorker.Passing the Dakota with its lit torches: each step I took as if through history itself. Approaching the Imagine mosaic and its unceasing soundtrack of buskers: my ears peeled through the din of car horns and helicopters to name that tune. Today, a deep cut, \\\"Savoy Truffle.\\\" Not even a John song! Descending the dogwood-flocked path: the majestic clomp of distant horse hooves sent a reliable thrill. Beholding the crazy quilt of budding magnolia blossoms, lime-green chutes and cutesy crocuses beginning their annual prison break: spring had sprung, baby!The reflexive next move would be to stop and breathe it all in. But I've learned the hard way. Central Park, no matter how fresh-smelling it may look, you take one whiff and it's piss all the way down.I crossed the park, my pace juiced by the recent bomb-drop. (Not your bomb-drop, British Museum. Sorry, Rosetta stone, you were fun while you lasted!) The available apartment. Who would I ask to join . . .Whatever you'd call our trio of highly competent, accomplished women (theater director, lawyer, philosopher) of a certain age (divorcee, widow, divorcee) who'd bought apartments on the same floor of the Ansonia so that down the line we could age in place and go out in a blaze of convivial independence?An unimpeachably intentional, highly curated, feminist old folks' home? Nah, not much of a ring.A tragic, estrogen-free trio trying to put our best face on the realization society is done with us and we're destined to die alone? No, and bite your tongue.It had started innocently enough. I'd moved to the Upper West Side after my divorce. Weeks in, I went to see chamber music with my friend Emily Ann (widowed lawyer), and on the way home said I had to stop at the market.Emily Ann did, too. \\\"What are you getting?\\\" she asked.(Now see, looking back, I already want to spend the rest of my life with that person: someone genuinely interested in my shopping list.)\\\"I've been craving tuna,\\\" I said. \\\"But the celery comes prepackaged in two heads, and I only ever want a couple of stalks.\\\" I hated waste. Emily Ann did, too.\\\"It's why I never make tuna,\\\" Emily Ann put in ruefully.\\\"What are you getting?\\\"\\\"Bread for sandwiches.\\\"Sliced bread. That, too, I hadn't bought because I only ever needed a couple of pieces at a time. (Viv was away, summering with her dad.)Right then, in the fusty cavity between the inner and outer doors of Morton Williams on Fifty-Seventh, inspiration struck.I grabbed Emily Ann by both arms and dug my fingers in.\\\"You buy celery!\\\" she cried, reading my mind. \\\"And I buy bread, and we give each other half!\\\"A runaway train couldn't have stopped us. On the aggressively narrow dining counter, I broke off celery stalks and slipped them into her Dave's Killer Bread bag. Into my celery bag went six pieces of her twenty-one-grain bread. It was divine, if spinsterish-Strike that.It was divine and spinsterish.When I attempt to define happiness and understand its place in the hierarchy of the human project (divorced philosopher), my mind leaps to those five minutes in the market with Emily Ann. (Sorry, marriage-to-Hal! Sorry, birth-of-Viv!) They were marked by spontaneity, creative problem-solving, lawlessness, laughter and kinship. I existed vividly and exclusively in the present moment. The universe was harmonious and it had my back. I felt wide and well.Obv, the next day Emily Ann and I texted each other pictures. Her tuna: rough chunks of celery and onion drowning in mayonnaise. My tuna: finely diced celery, onion, fresh dill, parsley, kalamata olives, capers and Mama Lil's Peppers, undetectable mayonnaise, generous lemon juice. Her arms: fingerprint-bruised from being dug into. Mine: not.I recounted the story to our friend Minna (making her the divorced theater director). She wildly wanted in.Thus began Fridays at Fairway. A meetup of single women who purchase and divvy celery, carrots, basil, muffins-anything we want but comes packaged too much for one. We've been known to bring Tupperware and Ziplocs. I call it a meetup because when other women see what we're doing, they instantly get it and want in. Sometimes it's a dozen of us. Other times it's just me and a bag of Mexican limes, ten for a dollar. I'm still surprised The New York Times hasn't gotten in touch; isn't that all the Style Section is, breathless reporting on trends that barely exist?We kicked it up a notch when an apartment became available on my floor. I mentioned it to Minna, who'd turned on her longtime East Village neighborhood for getting overrun by bougie NYU students. So she escaped to the suburbs of Manhattan, aka the Upper West Side, followed by Emily Ann a year later. The idea being to pool our resources and, when the time comes, we'll take care of one another.Women. You can't accuse us of not being practical.Whenever I mention this arrangement to married couples, I'm met with one of two responses neatly divided along gender lines.1. \\\"Wait, you can do that?\\\" (Said with wheels turning and fond memories of Ding-Dong Ditch.)2. \\\"Keep away from my wife.\\\"I took out my phone and texted Minna and Emily Ann.716 available. I'm on it.In immediate response, not just the shriveled witch, but an outbreak of shriveled witches floating across my screen.So, yes: coven.As I waited to cross Fifth Avenue, I bid good morning to the private security guard who patrols the block.\\\"Morning, Tony! Catch any crazies?\\\"\\\"Whatever you're on,\\\" he said, red-eyed and nursing a Greek diner coffee, \\\"I need some.\\\"\\\"A life of the mind,\\\" I answered, and headed towards the steps of one of the few remaining Beaux-Arts mansions from the Gilded Age.I have one of the weirder jobs. I'm the recipient of a fellowship from the Lockwood Library, you know, the museum on Fifth Avenue. Once home to steel baron Leo Lockwood, it's now among New York's swankier museums and houses the Lockwood collection. If you haven't been, run-don't-walk to check out the rare books, art, and whatever show is currently up. It's a can't-miss experience and the price is right: free, plus unlimited apple cider. At the very least, now you know where to pee on the Upper East Side.In exchange for health insurance, an office overlooking a formal garden, and a cushy (for a philosopher!) income, I'm asked to research and write in the Library and, four days a week-here comes the weird part-provide moral training for Lionel and Layla Lockwood's twin tween sons.Today it's weird. Back in the day-way back, we're talking Ancient Greece and Rome-it was all the rage to have a philosopher on staff. Alexander the Great was famously tutored by Aristotle. Marcus Aurelius, future emperor of Rome, attributes his swoon-worthy character to his Stoic teacher, Rusticus. Philosophy, it wasn't just for rich people! Socrates walked the streets of Athens hectoring all he came across into debating right from wrong, so vexing the powers that be they sentenced him to death by hemlock.I admitted myself through the employee entrance, scanned into the turnstile and dumped my bag onto the conveyor belt.\\\"Oh, Doctor!\\\" came a voice.It was Hannah, the first assistant to Lionel and Layla Lockwood. Hannah was early thirties, with curly hair and severe, blow-dried bangs which left a neat runway of forehead above her chunky black glasses.I entered Command Central, the eyes and ears of the Lockwood Library. A cramped space, it was barely big enough for Hannah. One wall was devoted to video surveillance monitors.\\\"The family returned from Paris early,\\\" Hannah said, slicing mail with a letter opener. \\\"There was an incident with the boys, and Mrs. Lockwood requested you today after school.\\\"\"},{\"id\":\"125834493T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"CAUTION: This email originated from outside of Penguin Random House. Please be extra cautious when opening file attachments or clicking on links.

I slid the fried egg-extra crispy, embedded with cracked pink peppercorns-onto a nest of baby arugula centered atop a slice of toasted sourdough. I sharpened my paring knife with a few satisfying slashes and sliced four cornichons thin enough for light to pass through. Those I placed across the warm egg, chevron-style. I capped it all off with a second piece of toast, this one thick with lemon aioli.

Or: I made a fried egg sandwich.

But how you do anything is how you do everything, and one might say my life's work has been chasing the Platonic ideal.

Viv appeared wearing that day's iteration of short-shorts, baby tee and sneakers. Her alarm had gone off at six. Evidence indicated she'd devoted the past hour to awesome lashes and beachy waves.

\\\"Good morning!\\\" I couldn't help but sing out.

Gorgeous, shallow creature, Viv! Reliably irritable, bereft of interests. Scroller, consumer, influencee. That Fate gave me Viv as a daughter provides a daily fountain of dismay and delight.

I encased the sandwich in glass, snapped shut the lid and presented it to Viv. She looked down and back up in dawning, victimized bewilderment.

\\\"I'm not shivving you,\\\" I pointed out. \\\"I'm handing you your favorite sandwich.\\\"

\\\"But . . .\\\" she began.

\\\"But all my friends go out to lunch? But bringing lunch from home makes me look poor? It's okay, you can say it.\\\"

Viv narrowed her eyes, swiped the sandwich and pivoted back down the hall to her room. For punctuation: ye olde door slam.

A scrape in the lock. Our dog walker, Ziggy, returning Mr. Man from his morning constitutional.

Ziggy, there's a kid: freshman at LaGuardia, he just had three pieces in the student art show. He's a dedicated runner, has a dog-walking business and in his free time is watching all of Bret Easton Ellis's movie recommendations. Added bonus, he's besotted with me.

Mr. Man, unclipped from his harness, shot past me and straight to his bowl without a hello.

\\\"Hey, Ziggy,\\\" I said, positioning myself outside Viv's room for maximum effect. \\\"How's photography?\\\"

Also, as an infant, Ziggy had contracted meningitis, which resulted in progressive hearing loss. He grew up in the building and is a fan favorite. When we learned he was saving for eardrum surgery, we put up flyers in the elevator. Within a week, residents and staff had raised enough for two surgeries; we threw in one for his pal from camp. Not one to let a skill go to waste, Ziggy gets paid princely by gossip sites to lip-read clips of celebrities bad-mouthing other celebrities at awards shows.

\\\"Or,\\\" I said, loudly enough for Viv to hear, \\\"is photography on pause because of cross-country?\\\"

\\\"I can do both,\\\" Ziggy answered, hopping up and down while standing still, which is his lovestruck way.

\\\"How do you find the time? You must never be on your phone.\\\"

\\\"You can stop trolling me,\\\" a muffled command from within.

\\\"Hey, Viv!\\\" Ziggy stared at the closed door, hanging for a response. None came.

Or: maybe it's Viv he's besotted with.

Mr. Man, seeing his bowl was sans treat, returned and gave me an abject look.

\\\"Don't you worry, Mr. Man,\\\" I said, all cute. \\\"You'll be dead soon enough. We'll all be.\\\"

\\\"Oh!\\\" Ziggy said. \\\"Seven-sixteen. I saw them talking in the elevator.\\\"

\\\"For real?\\\"

Ziggy poked his head into the hallway and indicated they were still there.

I whipped the dish towel over my shoulder.

At the far end of the hall, a luggage cart-the brass cage type, a remnant from when the Ansonia was New York's grandest hotel-was stacked and strung with Fairway bags.

A blonde in her twenties, who I'd seen in the trash room (sweet-faced but notably unfriendly), came out in stocking feet and hoisted a case of IPA onto one knee.

\\\"Hi!\\\" I called as I approached. \\\"You're selling your apartment-\\\"

At the sight of me, the girl became skittish as a bird.

\\\"How did you know?\\\" she half-gasped.

\\\"I live down the hall, and-\\\"

A handsome man with loose curls and strong captain-of-the-lacrosse-team vibes appeared and stood, shoulders flat against the door frame. At well over six feet, he looked down on me in more ways than one.

\\\"Why, hello,\\\" I said, and returned to the girl. \\\"I'd like to talk to you about buying.\\\"

\\\"Hold on,\\\" the guy said. \\\"Are you-\\\"

\\\"Matt!\\\" the girl whispered. \\\"No-\\\"

\\\"-in the coven?\\\" A grin broke out across his cherub-hued face.

Mention to one doorman, in passing, that you're starting a coven, and soon the whole building is looking at you askance!

I chose to ignore.

\\\"We can do it off-market,\\\" I told the girl. \\\"Save you the hassle and stress of listing.\\\"

\\\"I'm not really sure,\\\" she said, eyes darting at Matt.

\\\"How much?\\\" he asked.

\\\"We can get it appraised,\\\" I answered. \\\"If we don't use a realtor, it saves you commission.\\\"

\\\"Not bad,\\\" mused Matt. \\\"We'll get back to you.\\\" He tossed a laughing look my way. \\\"Now, if you'll excuse me. Duty calls.\\\"

Matt returned to a big screen television. He dove onto the couch, pulling off a midair half-rotation to land him flat on his back and aimed at the TV. This, he unmuted to \\\"Breaking News.\\\"

\\\"TERRORISTS HIT THE BRITISH MUSEUM,\\\" read the chyron.

\\\". . . No casualties have been reported,\\\" blasted the anchor. \\\"But we can confirm the Rosetta stone has been badly damaged.\\\"

I was beginning to reassess my man Matt, the news lover, when the screen went black and switched to a crude animation of the back alleys of Baghdad.

Matt clutched a videogame controller with both hands and, elbows dug into his sides, began the grim business of annihilating soldiers, prostitutes and fruit merchants alike.

\\\"He's in commercial real estate,\\\" the girl offered, starry-eyed. \\\"We're moving to Phoenix for his job.\\\"

\\\"Call me before you decide anything,\\\" I told her. \\\"I can think of five people who'd be interested.\\\"

Just inside, I spotted a Sharpie on the counter. I popped in and wrote my number on a jumbo bag of Cool Ranch Doritos.

\\\"Wait!\\\" said the girl, as I turned to go. \\\"Are you saying that the coven . . .\\\" She was doing some kind of math.

\\\"Yes?\\\"

\\\"Has a waitlist?\\\"

Inside her apartment, Matt (shoes-on, doing the couch luge) was gunning people down with an intensity I reckoned he never applied to learning her love language. A statement bong dominated the coffee table. Meanwhile, out in the hallway, bag handles had begun to cut off circulation to his beloved's ringless fingers.

\\\"You'll see,\\\" I said.

I entered Central Park at Seventy-Second Street with amazement that this was my route to work. Even after five years, I took in the city with the mawkish wonder of a recent arrival. On the upside, tourists never stopped me to ask directions. On the downside, I tripped and fell more than your average New Yorker.

Passing the Dakota with its lit torches: each step I took as if through history itself. Approaching the Imagine mosaic and its unceasing soundtrack of buskers: my ears peeled through the din of car horns and helicopters to name that tune. Today, a deep cut, \\\"Savoy Truffle.\\\" Not even a John song! Descending the dogwood-flocked path: the majestic clomp of distant horse hooves sent a reliable thrill. Beholding the crazy quilt of budding magnolia blossoms, lime-green chutes and cutesy crocuses beginning their annual prison break: spring had sprung, baby!

The reflexive next move would be to stop and breathe it all in. But I've learned the hard way. Central Park, no matter how fresh-smelling it may look, you take one whiff and it's piss all the way down.

I crossed the park, my pace juiced by the recent bomb-drop. (Not your bomb-drop, British Museum. Sorry, Rosetta stone, you were fun while you lasted!) The available apartment. Who would I ask to join . . .

Whatever you'd call our trio of highly competent, accomplished women (theater director, lawyer, philosopher) of a certain age (divorcee, widow, divorcee) who'd bought apartments on the same floor of the Ansonia so that down the line we could age in place and go out in a blaze of convivial independence?

An unimpeachably intentional, highly curated, feminist old folks' home? Nah, not much of a ring.

A tragic, estrogen-free trio trying to put our best face on the realization society is done with us and we're destined to die alone? No, and bite your tongue.

It had started innocently enough. I'd moved to the Upper West Side after my divorce. Weeks in, I went to see chamber music with my friend Emily Ann (widowed lawyer), and on the way home said I had to stop at the market.

Emily Ann did, too. \\\"What are you getting?\\\" she asked.

(Now see, looking back, I already want to spend the rest of my life with that person: someone genuinely interested in my shopping list.)

\\\"I've been craving tuna,\\\" I said. \\\"But the celery comes prepackaged in two heads, and I only ever want a couple of stalks.\\\" I hated waste. Emily Ann did, too.

\\\"It's why I never make tuna,\\\" Emily Ann put in ruefully.

\\\"What are you getting?\\\"

\\\"Bread for sandwiches.\\\"

Sliced bread. That, too, I hadn't bought because I only ever needed a couple of pieces at a time. (Viv was away, summering with her dad.)

Right then, in the fusty cavity between the inner and outer doors of Morton Williams on Fifty-Seventh, inspiration struck.

I grabbed Emily Ann by both arms and dug my fingers in.

\\\"You buy celery!\\\" she cried, reading my mind. \\\"And I buy bread, and we give each other half!\\\"

A runaway train couldn't have stopped us. On the aggressively narrow dining counter, I broke off celery stalks and slipped them into her Dave's Killer Bread bag. Into my celery bag went six pieces of her twenty-one-grain bread. It was divine, if spinsterish-

Strike that.

It was divine and spinsterish.

When I attempt to define happiness and understand its place in the hierarchy of the human project (divorced philosopher), my mind leaps to those five minutes in the market with Emily Ann. (Sorry, marriage-to-Hal! Sorry, birth-of-Viv!) They were marked by spontaneity, creative problem-solving, lawlessness, laughter and kinship. I existed vividly and exclusively in the present moment. The universe was harmonious and it had my back. I felt wide and well.

Obv, the next day Emily Ann and I texted each other pictures. Her tuna: rough chunks of celery and onion drowning in mayonnaise. My tuna: finely diced celery, onion, fresh dill, parsley, kalamata olives, capers and Mama Lil's Peppers, undetectable mayonnaise, generous lemon juice. Her arms: fingerprint-bruised from being dug into. Mine: not.

I recounted the story to our friend Minna (making her the divorced theater director). She wildly wanted in.

Thus began Fridays at Fairway. A meetup of single women who purchase and divvy celery, carrots, basil, muffins-anything we want but comes packaged too much for one. We've been known to bring Tupperware and Ziplocs. I call it a meetup because when other women see what we're doing, they instantly get it and want in. Sometimes it's a dozen of us. Other times it's just me and a bag of Mexican limes, ten for a dollar. I'm still surprised The New York Times hasn't gotten in touch; isn't that all the Style Section is, breathless reporting on trends that barely exist?

We kicked it up a notch when an apartment became available on my floor. I mentioned it to Minna, who'd turned on her longtime East Village neighborhood for getting overrun by bougie NYU students. So she escaped to the suburbs of Manhattan, aka the Upper West Side, followed by Emily Ann a year later. The idea being to pool our resources and, when the time comes, we'll take care of one another.

Women. You can't accuse us of not being practical.

Whenever I mention this arrangement to married couples, I'm met with one of two responses neatly divided along gender lines.

1. \\\"Wait, you can do that?\\\" (Said with wheels turning and fond memories of Ding-Dong Ditch.)

2. \\\"Keep away from my wife.\\\"

I took out my phone and texted Minna and Emily Ann.

716 available. I'm on it.

In immediate response, not just the shriveled witch, but an outbreak of shriveled witches floating across my screen.

So, yes: coven.

As I waited to cross Fifth Avenue, I bid good morning to the private security guard who patrols the block.

\\\"Morning, Tony! Catch any crazies?\\\"

\\\"Whatever you're on,\\\" he said, red-eyed and nursing a Greek diner coffee, \\\"I need some.\\\"

\\\"A life of the mind,\\\" I answered, and headed towards the steps of one of the few remaining Beaux-Arts mansions from the Gilded Age.

I have one of the weirder jobs. I'm the recipient of a fellowship from the Lockwood Library, you know, the museum on Fifth Avenue. Once home to steel baron Leo Lockwood, it's now among New York's swankier museums and houses the Lockwood collection. If you haven't been, run-don't-walk to check out the rare books, art, and whatever show is currently up. It's a can't-miss experience and the price is right: free, plus unlimited apple cider. At the very least, now you know where to pee on the Upper East Side.

In exchange for health insurance, an office overlooking a formal garden, and a cushy (for a philosopher!) income, I'm asked to research and write in the Library and, four days a week-here comes the weird part-provide moral training for Lionel and Layla Lockwood's twin tween sons.

Today it's weird. Back in the day-way back, we're talking Ancient Greece and Rome-it was all the rage to have a philosopher on staff. Alexander the Great was famously tutored by Aristotle. Marcus Aurelius, future emperor of Rome, attributes his swoon-worthy character to his Stoic teacher, Rusticus. Philosophy, it wasn't just for rich people! Socrates walked the streets of Athens hectoring all he came across into debating right from wrong, so vexing the powers that be they sentenced him to death by hemlock.

I admitted myself through the employee entrance, scanned into the turnstile and dumped my bag onto the conveyor belt.

\\\"Oh, Doctor!\\\" came a voice.

It was Hannah, the first assistant to Lionel and Layla Lockwood. Hannah was early thirties, with curly hair and severe, blow-dried bangs which left a neat runway of forehead above her chunky black glasses.

I entered Command Central, the eyes and ears of the Lockwood Library. A cramped space, it was barely big enough for Hannah. One wall was devoted to video surveillance monitors.

\\\"The family returned from Paris early,\\\" Hannah said, slicing mail with a letter opener. \\\"There was an incident with the boys, and Mrs. Lockwood requested you today after school.\\\"\"},{\"id\":\"125839139T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"A Most Anticipated Book of 2026

The New York Times * The Washington Post * Harper's Bazaar * TIME * BBC * Parade * Seattle Times * Lit Hub * Book Riot * Booklist * BookBub * Minnesota Star Tribune * Bookpage * Forbes * SheReads

A Barnes & Noble Best Book of 2026

\\\"In her new novel, her fourth, a divorced woman named Adora Hazzard is enjoying life with her teenage daughter and a 'coven' of friends on the same floor of her building on New York's Upper West Side. She is not looking for love, and so Semple gives it to her, sparking events that show off the author's trademark hilarious chaos.\\\" -The Washington Post

\\\"Semple blends intrigue, humor, and irony into a story that splits open one character's life and might just inspire you to make yours a little bigger too.\\\"
-Harper's Bazaar

\\\"The best-selling author of Where'd You Go, Bernadette blends the sensual with the sinister in a romp through the museums and maisonettes of genteel Manhattan.\\\" -TIME

\\\"Now this, my friends, is what we call a romp....[T]his one's plot has twists and turns in abundance, as [Adora] Hazzard certainly earns her last name in a series of, dare I say, shenanigans, animated always by a subtle, irrepressible joie de vivre.\\\" -NPR

\\\"The author of the smash hit Where'd You Go, Bernadette returns with a glittering new novel...A delightful page-turner.\\\" -People (Book of the Week)

\\\"[A] hard-charging escapade that's equal parts screwball comedy, international-intrigue caper, and feminist comeuppance story.\\\" -New Yorker

\\\"[A] crackling mystery-romance...Semple's writing is warm and absurdly funny but also occasionally devastating...But Go Gentle remains dedicated, like Adora, to positivity and joy, and Semple makes it hard to resist either quality.\\\" -The Atlantic

\\\"Finally, Maria Semple's long-awaited new novel Go Gentle combines smart humour, reflections on optimising later life, intellectual depth and romance. An intricately plotted art-heist adventure that works also as an introduction to the principles of stoicism - such is the appeal of narrator Adora Hazzard. You'll laugh and learn, and might start waking up and telling the world, \\\"Surprise me!\\\"\\\" -The Guardian

\\\"Semple is great at writing women on the edge, characters with seemingly perfect lives who are secretly about to crack, so I can't wait to see what she does with this one.\\\" -Lit Hub

\\\"Semple comes by comedy honestly: The novelist began her career as a screenwriter whose credits include series such as \\\"Mad About You\\\" and \\\"Arrested Development.\\\" Readers might know her as the author of the novel \\\"Where'd You Go, Bernadette\\\" - she brings her same sense of offbeat humor to this book, which follows Adora, a philosopher whose life is upended when she meets an intriguing stranger. There are several plotlines in this novel, which Semple juggles with aplomb; I loved witnessing the book descend into a kind of joyful, barely controlled chaos. Beneath the humor and the wild plot twists is a graceful book about aging - intelligent, compassionate and, yes, gentle.\\\" -Los Angeles Times

\\\"Maria Semple is a truly American author who sees the pathos, chaos and humor in each episode, in each character's needs and wants...GO GENTLE is hard to put down --- and the final events will stay with readers long after the last page is turned. This is the perfect book for spring, a time for renewal and recharging.\\\" -Bookreporter

\\\"Funny, tender, mysterious, clever...Semple entertains in every moment of this smart story of Greek philosophy and Greek statues; desire, happiness, and their opposites; and priceless midlife peace... Readers will have hearts in their eyes to see her first new novel in a decade.\\\"
-Booklist (Starred Review)

\\\"A love story like no other... a totally original, madcap adventure.\\\" -Real Simple

\\\"Semple delivers an energetic caper about a woman who gets roped into blue-blooded family drama and a potential smuggling scheme... Semple's writing is as limber as ever... There's plenty to enjoy in this rollicking adventure.\\\" -Publishers Weekly

\\\"A joyful, madcap novel, Go Gentle puts 50-something women in New York City at center stage - with philosophy, art, parenting, dark secrets, and international intrigue jostling restlessly in the wings. These ladies are far more lively and youthful than Truman Capote's swans; it's a new world.... There is a delightful spark in the way all the characters come alive in a Maria Semple novel.\\\" -Boston Globe

\\\"Go Gentle is a thoroughly fun and raucous read that richly explores the wisdom that comes with middle age and the tradeoff between being content and taking chances.\\\" -BookPage

\\\"In April, Where'd You Go, Bernadette author Maria Semple returns with another off-beat tale, Go Gentle, this time about a contented divorcée whose life suddenly starts to unravel.\\\" -BBC

\\\"From the bestselling author of Where'd You Go, Bernadette comes another thought-provoking tale about following your own path.\\\" -Woman's World

\\\"This is a book by the brilliant Maria Semple, folks, so the mayhem is the most fun part...it's an absolute blast.\\\" -Town & Country

\\\"Delightfully zany\\\" -New York Post

\\\"A touching and hilarious story...[Go Gentle] is perfect for those looking for a bit of romance, while also looking out for something that sparks positivity and creativity. It's focused on life, and sometimes, that's what we need.\\\" -Parade

\\\"A smart, emotionally sharp novel from one of contemporary fiction's most reliable crowd-pleasers.\\\" -Book & Film Globe

\\\"...a wild ride of a book that's delightful while you're reading it and that lingers long after you're done.\\\" -Minneapolis Star Tribune

\\\"Go Gentle is Maria Semple's first novel in a decade, and it is well worth the wait. As smart as it is funny, this is a madcap caper, a sweet romance, and a thoughtful consideration of desire all rolled into one. It's a party in book form-the most fun I've had reading this year-and I look forward to talking about it for months to come.\\\" -BookRiot

\\\"In the spirit of Semple's Where'd You Go, Bernadette, Go Gentle is both slyly comic and unexpectedly tender -- a character-driven portrait of life's second act and the quiet ways people are changed by one another.\\\" -Goop

\\\"Set against a backdrop of artistic ambition and intrigue, the novel blends Semple's signature humor with a more introspective edge, exploring what it means to loosen control and find purpose again.\\\"
-CityScene

\\\"A middle-aged divorcée grabs life by the balls in this madcap romp.\\\" -Washington Independent Review of Books

\\\"[S]pending a few days with [Adora Hazzard] may be the most exhilarating thing you can do for yourself this summer.\\\" -Ron Charles

\\\"This one's been on my list since its spring release, and I can't wait to sink my teeth into it this summer. It follows a divorced former TV writer and Stoic philosopher who's living on the Upper West Side among her 'coven,' a group of impressive women who plan to 'grow old in curated company.' But her blissful existence is upended when a new man in her life drags her into bizarre corners of the art world's black market. I absolutely loved Semple's Where'd You Go, Bernadette, so I've got high hopes for this.\\\" -Katie Couric Media

\\\"If your vibe is art heist with a little New York coven, then this is the book for you. Go Gentle is brilliantly humorous and while there is a heavier storyline in the book, this is overall still such a wild ride.\\\" -Book Talk with Lauren

\\\"\\\"Go Gentle\\\" is a brilliant undertaking and gripping to read... exquisitely written and mysteriously plotted triumph of a novel, you will likely swoon over Semple's exquisite sentences and stare off in the distance after reading near perfect phrasing. Cowboy up for this one; don't let it escape.\\\" -Durango Telegraph

\\\"Maria Semple is a delight, and her latest book, 'Go Gentle,' is a continuation of that delightfulness and hilarity.\\\" -Page Six

\\\"Semple has created something rare in Go Gentle: a story that's both deeply intellectual and still accessible. This novel is what happens when someone who understands trauma writes about healing. Smart, funny, and devastating in a great way. Read this book.\\\" -Jennette McCurdy, New York Times bestselling author of I'm Glad My Mom Died and Half His Age

\\\"Highly original and loaded with Maria Semple's signature wit, Go Gentle takes us on a fast, wild ride through the days and nights of a philosopher for whom the meaning of life-and how to get through it-is completely upended by the one thing she never saw coming. Love.\\\" -Bonnie Garmus, New York Times bestselling author of Lessons in Chemistry

\\\"Manic and frank, playful and wise, Go Gentle rampages through reality, giving us glimpses into Hollywood writer's rooms, the lives of the fabulously wealthy New York elite, art heists and philosophical debates, but perhaps most preciously it allows us to glimpse a vision of cronehood as empowering and sexy and fun. Adora Hazzard is a heroine for the ages.\\\" -Rufi Thorpe, author of Margo's Got Money Troubles

\\\"This is the kind of book I dream of. Hilarious, urbane, touching but never sentimental and just brilliantly plotted. It's about so many things-art world shenanigans, toxic Hollywood writer rooms, stoic philosophers, and above all, love, love, love. Maria Semple graces her readers with the intrigue, wisdom and belly laughs we deserve.\\\" -Gary Shteyngart, author of Vera, or Faith and Our Country Friends

\\\"I adored this novel and it made me very happy. Go Gentle combines Semple's giant intellect, genius thinking, rich, witty dialogue and screwball comedy. Brimming with big ideas about art and philosophy and questions about the way we live our lives, this is an intricately plotted mystery, intrigue and romance with a glorious cast of characters.\\\" -Nina Stibbe, award-winning author of Love, Nina\"},{\"id\":\"131679663T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"A Most Anticipated Book of 2026

The New York Times - The Washington Post - Harper's Bazaar - TIME - BBC - Parade - Seattle Times - Lit Hub - Book Riot - Booklist - BookBub - Minnesota Star Tribune - Bookpage - Forbes - SheReads

A Barnes & Noble Best Book of 2026

\\\"In her new novel, her fourth, a divorced woman named Adora Hazzard is enjoying life with her teenage daughter and a 'coven' of friends on the same floor of her building on New York's Upper West Side. She is not looking for love, and so Semple gives it to her, sparking events that show off the author's trademark hilarious chaos.\\\" -The Washington Post

\\\"Semple blends intrigue, humor, and irony into a story that splits open one character's life and might just inspire you to make yours a little bigger too.\\\"
-Harper's Bazaar

\\\"The best-selling author of Where'd You Go, Bernadette blends the sensual with the sinister in a romp through the museums and maisonettes of genteel Manhattan.\\\" -TIME

\\\"Now this, my friends, is what we call a romp....[T]his one's plot has twists and turns in abundance, as [Adora] Hazzard certainly earns her last name in a series of, dare I say, shenanigans, animated always by a subtle, irrepressible joie de vivre.\\\" -NPR

\\\"The author of the smash hit Where'd You Go, Bernadette returns with a glittering new novel...A delightful page-turner.\\\" -People (Book of the Week)

\\\"[A] hard-charging escapade that's equal parts screwball comedy, international-intrigue caper, and feminist comeuppance story.\\\" -New Yorker

\\\"[A] crackling mystery-romance...Semple's writing is warm and absurdly funny but also occasionally devastating...But Go Gentle remains dedicated, like Adora, to positivity and joy, and Semple makes it hard to resist either quality.\\\" -The Atlantic

\\\"Finally, Maria Semple's long-awaited new novel Go Gentle combines smart humour, reflections on optimising later life, intellectual depth and romance. An intricately plotted art-heist adventure that works also as an introduction to the principles of stoicism - such is the appeal of narrator Adora Hazzard. You'll laugh and learn, and might start waking up and telling the world, \\\"Surprise me!\\\"\\\" -The Guardian

\\\"Semple is great at writing women on the edge, characters with seemingly perfect lives who are secretly about to crack, so I can't wait to see what she does with this one.\\\" -Lit Hub

\\\"Semple comes by comedy honestly: The novelist began her career as a screenwriter whose credits include series such as \\\"Mad About You\\\" and \\\"Arrested Development.\\\" Readers might know her as the author of the novel \\\"Where'd You Go, Bernadette\\\" -- she brings her same sense of offbeat humor to this book, which follows Adora, a philosopher whose life is upended when she meets an intriguing stranger. There are several plotlines in this novel, which Semple juggles with aplomb; I loved witnessing the book descend into a kind of joyful, barely controlled chaos. Beneath the humor and the wild plot twists is a graceful book about aging -- intelligent, compassionate and, yes, gentle.\\\" -Los Angeles Times

\\\"Maria Semple is a truly American author who sees the pathos, chaos and humor in each episode, in each character's needs and wants...GO GENTLE is hard to put down --- and the final events will stay with readers long after the last page is turned. This is the perfect book for spring, a time for renewal and recharging.\\\" -Bookreporter

\\\"Funny, tender, mysterious, clever...Semple entertains in every moment of this smart story of Greek philosophy and Greek statues; desire, happiness, and their opposites; and priceless midlife peace... Readers will have hearts in their eyes to see her first new novel in a decade.\\\"
-Booklist (Starred Review)

\\\"A love story like no other... a totally original, madcap adventure.\\\" -Real Simple

\\\"Semple delivers an energetic caper about a woman who gets roped into blue-blooded family drama and a potential smuggling scheme... Semple's writing is as limber as ever... There's plenty to enjoy in this rollicking adventure.\\\" -Publishers Weekly

\\\"A joyful, madcap novel, Go Gentle puts 50-something women in New York City at center stage -- with philosophy, art, parenting, dark secrets, and international intrigue jostling restlessly in the wings. These ladies are far more lively and youthful than Truman Capote's swans; it's a new world.... There is a delightful spark in the way all the characters come alive in a Maria Semple novel.\\\" -Boston Globe

\\\"Go Gentle is a thoroughly fun and raucous read that richly explores the wisdom that comes with middle age and the tradeoff between being content and taking chances.\\\" -BookPage

\\\"In April, Where'd You Go, Bernadette author Maria Semple returns with another off-beat tale, Go Gentle, this time about a contented divorcée whose life suddenly starts to unravel.\\\" -BBC

\\\"From the bestselling author of Where'd You Go, Bernadette comes another thought-provoking tale about following your own path.\\\" -Woman's World

\\\"This is a book by the brilliant Maria Semple, folks, so the mayhem is the most fun part...it's an absolute blast.\\\" -Town & Country

\\\"Delightfully zany\\\" -New York Post

\\\"A touching and hilarious story...[Go Gentle] is perfect for those looking for a bit of romance, while also looking out for something that sparks positivity and creativity. It's focused on life, and sometimes, that's what we need.\\\" -Parade

\\\"A smart, emotionally sharp novel from one of contemporary fiction's most reliable crowd-pleasers.\\\" -Book & Film Globe

\\\"...a wild ride of a book that's delightful while you're reading it and that lingers long after you're done.\\\" --Minneapolis Star Tribune

\\\"Go Gentle is Maria Semple's first novel in a decade, and it is well worth the wait. As smart as it is funny, this is a madcap caper, a sweet romance, and a thoughtful consideration of desire all rolled into one. It's a party in book form--the most fun I've had reading this year--and I look forward to talking about it for months to come.\\\" --BookRiot

\\\"In the spirit of Semple's Where'd You Go, Bernadette, Go Gentle is both slyly comic and unexpectedly tender -- a character-driven portrait of life's second act and the quiet ways people are changed by one another.\\\" --Goop

\\\"Set against a backdrop of artistic ambition and intrigue, the novel blends Semple's signature humor with a more introspective edge, exploring what it means to loosen control and find purpose again.\\\"
--CityScene

\\\"A middle-aged divorcée grabs life by the balls in this madcap romp.\\\" --Washington Independent Review of Books

\\\"[S]pending a few days with [Adora Hazzard] may be the most exhilarating thing you can do for yourself this summer.\\\" --Ron Charles

\\\"This one's been on my list since its spring release, and I can't wait to sink my teeth into it this summer. It follows a divorced former TV writer and Stoic philosopher who's living on the Upper West Side among her 'coven, ' a group of impressive women who plan to 'grow old in curated company.' But her blissful existence is upended when a new man in her life drags her into bizarre corners of the art world's black market. I absolutely loved Semple's Where'd You Go, Bernadette, so I've got high hopes for this.\\\" --Katie Couric Media

\\\"If your vibe is art heist with a little New York coven, then this is the book for you. Go Gentle is brilliantly humorous and while there is a heavier storyline in the book, this is overall still such a wild ride.\\\" --Book Talk with Lauren

\\\"\\\"Go Gentle\\\" is a brilliant undertaking and gripping to read... exquisitely written and mysteriously plotted triumph of a novel, you will likely swoon over Semple's exquisite sentences and stare off in the distance after reading near perfect phrasing. Cowboy up for this one; don't let it escape.\\\" --Durango Telegraph

\\\"Maria Semple is a delight, and her latest book, 'Go Gentle, ' is a continuation of that delightfulness and hilarity.\\\" --Page Six

\\\"Semple has created something rare in Go Gentle a story that's both deeply intellectual and still accessible. This novel is what happens when someone who understands trauma writes about healing. Smart, funny, and devastating in a great way. Read this book.\\\" --Jennette McCurdy, New York Times bestselling author of I'm Glad My Mom Died and Half His Age

\\\"Highly original and loaded with Maria Semple's signature wit, Go Gentle takes us on a fast, wild ride through the days and nights of a philosopher for whom the meaning of life--and how to get through it--is completely upended by the one thing she never saw coming. Love.\\\" --Bonnie Garmus, New York Times bestselling author of Lessons in Chemistry

\\\"Manic and frank, playful and wise, Go Gentle rampages through reality, giving us glimpses into Hollywood writer's rooms, the lives of the fabulously wealthy New York elite, art heists and philosophical debates, but perhaps most preciously it allows us to glimpse a vision of cronehood as empowering and sexy and fun. Adora Hazzard is a heroine for the ages.\\\" --Rufi Thorpe, author of Margo's Got Money Troubles

\\\"This is the kind of book I dream of. Hilarious, urbane, touching but never sentimental and just brilliantly plotted. It's about so many things--art world shenanigans, toxic Hollywood writer rooms, stoic philosophers, and above all, love, love, love. Maria Semple graces her readers with the intrigue, wisdom and belly laughs we deserve.\\\" --Gary Shteyngart, author of Vera, or Faith and Our Country Friends

\\\"I adored this novel and it made me very happy. Go Gentle combines Semple's giant intellect, genius thinking, rich, witty dialogue and screwball comedy. Brimming with big ideas about art and philosophy and questions about the way we live our lives, this is an intricately plotted mystery, intrigue and romance with a glorious cast of characters.\\\" --Nina Stibbe, award-winning author of Love, Nina\"},{\"id\":\"125839148T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

The author of Where’d You Go, Bernadette is back with a transformative novel of new beginnings and second chances. Headstrong and determined, modern philosopher Adora Hazzard questions her future after a meeting with a mysterious yet alluring stranger.

\"},{\"id\":\"114131210T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

\"},{\"id\":\"125839152T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Maria Semple is the bestselling author of Today Will Be Different, Where'd You Go, Bernadette, and This One Is Mine. Her novels have been translated into forty languages. Before writing fiction, Maria wrote for TV. She lives in New York.

\"},{\"id\":\"125833219T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

Maria Semple is the bestselling author of Today Will Be Different, Where’d You Go, Bernadette, and This One Is Mine. Her novels have been translated into forty languages. Before writing fiction, Maria wrote for TV. She lives in New York.

\"},{\"id\":\"125839153T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"Maria Semple is the bestselling author of Today Will Be Different, Where’d You Go, Bernadette, and This One Is Mine. Her novels have been translated into forty languages. Before writing fiction, Maria wrote for TV. She lives in New York.\"},{\"id\":\"125839151T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"

\"},{\"id\":\"125839156T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"5\",\"text\":\"Maria Semple is the bestselling author of Today Will Be Different, Where’d You Go, Bernadette, and This One Is Mine. Her novels have been translated into forty languages. Before writing fiction, Maria wrote for TV. She lives in New York.\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/58684511977713","gid://shopify/Metafield/58684511650033","gid://shopify/Metafield/58684511944945","gid://shopify/Metafield/58684511781105","[{\"contributorId\":5735880,\"fullName\":\"Maria Semple\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",[6968],{"_148":6969,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":-5,"_3716":6970,"_5881":6971,"_5883":6972,"_5885":6973,"_5887":6923,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46706565480689",{"_148":6975,"_144":6976,"_5898":-5,"_3989":6671,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":6668,"_5894":5895},{"_76":6922,"_41":6923},[6974],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/47636656357617","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9798217176632_p0.jpg?v=1777430450",{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6668,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/9213862805745","Yesteryear","9780593804216","#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • A GMA BOOK CLUB PICK • A NEW YORK TIMES BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR (SO FAR) • A traditional American woman, a “tradwife” influencer, suddenly awakens in the brutal reality of 1855—where she must unravel whether this living nightmare is an elaborate hoax, a twisted reality show, or something far more sinister in this sensational debut novel.\"A bold and biting satire, Yesteryear…will have you cackling and gasping right to the final page.\"—Nita Prose, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Maid seriesMy name was Natalie Heller Mills, and I was perfect at being alive.Natalie lives a traditional lifestyle. Her charming farmhouse is rustic, her husband a handsome cowboy, her six children each more delightful than the last. So what if there are nannies and producers behind the scenes, her kitchen hiding industrial-grade fridges and ovens, her husband the heir to a political dynasty? What Natalie’s followers—all 8 million of them—don’t know won’t hurt them. And The Angry Women? The privileged, Ivy League, coastal elite haters who call her an antifeminist iconoclast? They’re sick with jealousy. Because Natalie isn’t simply living the good life, she’s living the ideal—and just so happens to be building an empire from it.Until one morning she wakes up in a life that isn’t hers. Her home, her husband, her children—they’re all familiar, but something’s off. Her kitchen is warmed by a sputtering fire rather than electricity, her children are dirty and strange, and her soft-handed husband is suddenly a competent farmer. Just yesterday Natalie was curating photos of homemade jam for her Instagram, and now she’s expected to haul firewood and handwash clothes until her fingers bleed. Has she become the unwitting star of a ruthless reality show? Could it really be time travel? Is she being tested by God? By Satan? When Natalie suffers a brutal injury in the woods, she realizes two things: This is not her beautiful life, and she must escape by any means possible.A gripping, electrifying novel that is as darkly funny as it is frightening, Yesteryear is a gimlet-eyed look at tradition, fame, faith, and the grand performance of womanhood.","#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • A GMA BOOK CLUB PICK • A NEW YORK TIMES BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR (SO FAR) • A traditional American woman, a “tradwife” influencer, suddenly awakens in the brutal reality of 1855—where she must unravel whether this living nightmare is an elaborate hoax, a twisted reality show, or something far more sinister in this sensational debut novel.

\"A bold and biting satire, Yesteryear…will have you cackling and gasping right to the final page.\"
—Nita Prose, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Maid series

My name was Natalie Heller Mills, and I was perfect at being alive.

Natalie lives a traditional lifestyle. Her charming farmhouse is rustic, her husband a handsome cowboy, her six children each more delightful than the last. So what if there are nannies and producers behind the scenes, her kitchen hiding industrial-grade fridges and ovens, her husband the heir to a political dynasty? What Natalie’s followers—all 8 million of them—don’t know won’t hurt them. And The Angry Women? The privileged, Ivy League, coastal elite haters who call her an antifeminist iconoclast? They’re sick with jealousy. Because Natalie isn’t simply living the good life, she’s living the ideal—and just so happens to be building an empire from it.

Until one morning she wakes up in a life that isn’t hers. Her home, her husband, her children—they’re all familiar, but something’s off. Her kitchen is warmed by a sputtering fire rather than electricity, her children are dirty and strange, and her soft-handed husband is suddenly a competent farmer. Just yesterday Natalie was curating photos of homemade jam for her Instagram, and now she’s expected to haul firewood and handwash clothes until her fingers bleed. Has she become the unwitting star of a ruthless reality show? Could it really be time travel? Is she being tested by God? By Satan? When Natalie suffers a brutal injury in the woods, she realizes two things: This is not her beautiful life, and she must escape by any means possible.

A gripping, electrifying novel that is as darkly funny as it is frightening, Yesteryear is a gimlet-eyed look at tradition, fame, faith, and the grand performance of womanhood.",{"_148":7036,"_144":7037,"_3989":7038,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":7041},{"_5902":7039,"_5904":7040},{"_5873":7026},{"_5838":7013},{"_5838":6982},{"_5838":5797},[6993,-5,-5,6994,6995,-5,6996,6997,6998,6999,7000,-5,7001,7002,-5,7003,7004,7005],{"_148":7024,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":7025},{"_148":7023,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":7022,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":7021,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":7019,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":7020},{"_148":7017,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":7018},{"_148":7015,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":7016},{"_148":7014,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":7012,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":7013},{"_148":7011,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":6982},{"_148":7010,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":7008,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":7009},{"_148":7006,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":7007},"gid://shopify/Metafield/79078658015473","387","gid://shopify/Metafield/79078658048241","{\"scale_min\":\"1.0\",\"scale_max\":\"5.0\",\"value\":\"3.7\"}","gid://shopify/Metafield/57983329796337","gid://shopify/Metafield/57983326912753","gid://shopify/Metafield/57983330713841","[\"Celebrate Women's History Month (p10585)\",\"The Most Anticipated Books of 2026 (p10335)\",\"BADGE - $5 OFF (p7876)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Mother's Day Gifts (p3894)\",\"Halloween Books & Spooky Stories Collection (p5292)\",\"Top Books for Your Summer Reading List (p7187)\",\"B|Bestseller|#007C6C (p7858)\",\"Summer Reading (p5957)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\",\"Spring into Reading (p5839)\",\"BADGE - Best Seller (p7883)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/57983329566961","gid://shopify/Metafield/57983328780529","1147793810","gid://shopify/Metafield/57983330320625","Yesteryear/Caro-Claire-Burke","gid://shopify/Metafield/58822838747377","[{\"id\":\"127509535T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"This is the last day of the life I imagined for myself.

I woke up two minutes before my alarm went off, like usual. Five fifty-eight and bing: eyes wide open, ready to greet the day. I’ve never had a hard time waking up in the morning. Never used the snooze button, either, not once in my life. Sobriety helps. I don’t drink. Discipline helps, too. I was born with spades of discipline, I’m practically overflowing with it—which is why, I think, I’ve never had that much trouble with anything in my life. Not motherhood, nor marriage, nor building a business, nor serving Him. All of it appeared to me as a series of tasks to be accomplished each day, at the right time, in the correct chronological order. I know it’s not that easy for other people, but it really is for me.

That’s why all those strangers liked me so much.

That, and the money. The money definitely helped too.

It was wintertime. January. A cold front had just blown through the pass. By my bedroom window, the radiator was puffing hot air. The sky outside was deep-as-death black, and would be for another few hours. Our farm was nestled in the rolling divots between two mountain ranges in Idaho, which meant we didn’t see the sun until nine or so in the winter months. We were located five miles down a long, winding gravel country road. Not even airplanes flew overhead.

In the darkness, I listened to the distant mooing of Sassafras, our beloved dairy cow. I could tell by the pitch and register of her moans that my husband, Caleb, was milking her. Right on time. The man was good.

My husband was not disciplined before he met me. He was the youngest of five boys, the runt of the litter in an American dynasty. His father was the latest senator in a long line of U.S. senators, currently barreling through a presidential bid (third time’s the charm!); his mother was a homemaker who had spent most of her life drowning in Chardonnay. Together, through a near-fatal combination of paternal neglect and maternal sympathy, they had raised Caleb to be soft and spoiled and sweet. But the only thing more valuable than a person with God-given traits is a person who’s willing to learn, and my husband, that man, had been willing to learn.

And who was I?

A flawless Christian woman. The manic pixie American dream girl of this nation’s deepest, darkest fantasies. The mother every woman wanted to be, and the wife every man wanted to come home to. Like a nun in a porno, it didn’t make sense, but also, by God: it worked.

My name is Natalie Heller Mills, and I was perfect at being alive.

In the silences between Sassafras’s near-human groans of pleasure (sometimes I joked online that my husband had a bovine mistress, ha ha!), I could just hear the distant chicken coop chatter, that meditative bockbockbockbockbock that served as the white noise machine of our farm. I loved our chickens. They were as domesticated as dogs, as harmless as toddlers. Sometimes I went out to the coop just to sit with them. I liked to stroke their silky necks, let them peck softly at the feed in my cupped palms.

We’d be killing them soon. In the darkness, my mouth watered. I’d been yearning, lately, for fresh bone broth. Once you’ve made it from scratch, the store-bought kind tastes rancid.

Through the open crack of my bedroom door, there was a spilling of little-boy laughter. The children were down the hall, having breakfast. I closed my eyes, felt the rhythms of my house like a heartbeat. Nanny Louise—a godsend for our family—was at the stove, making pancakes. Producer Shannon—my right arm—was by the kitchen sink, getting the video equipment prepared for a long day of work. Stetson and Samuel—my darling young men—were sitting at the table, shoving and pulling one another in equally groggy measure. Clementine—my eldest, the girl who made me a mother—was at the head of the table, ignoring her brothers, reading a book. Nanny Aimee—our second in command—was moving through the far corners of the house, waking up each of the littles, kissing sleepy eyelids, tugging my two toddlers gently forward into the day. She would bring one to the kitchen, hand her over to Nanny Louise, and go back to get the other.

I closed my eyes and whispered my daily thanks to the Lord for everything he had provided me.

Thank you, Father, for Caleb. Thank you for the Inheritance. Thank you for Clementine, Samuel, Stetson, Jessa, Junebug, and the little angel we haven’t named yet.

My hand moved instinctively to my stomach, resting at the height of the curve. I was thirty-two years old. Six months pregnant with our sixth child. It had been the easiest pregnancy to date—though all my pregnancies, relatively speaking, had been smooth. I was born to be a mother. I never felt more connected with Him than when I was tasked with carrying one of His creations.

(Do you see what I’m saying? Perfect.)

Beneath my palm, my baby girl rolled slowly to her side. My little sea creature. I loved her so much.

Thank you for watching over the farm animals, Lord, and thank you for helping us pass five million on Instagram this week. We’re only a few souls away from one million on YouTube, Lord. It’s through Your will, and Your will alone, that I have reached so many hearts and minds. It’s in Your name that I work to spread Your truth.

A wave of nausea passed over me, and I suffered beneath the shadow. Sometimes it actually made me sick, how perfect my life was, and how good I was at living it.

On the bedside table, my phone sputtered awake. I reached over and silenced it, then threw off the sheets and got up.

We hadn’t always had this much help. For the first few years, it had been us and the kids and the farm. When I became pregnant with my fourth, we hired Nanny Louise. When I was pregnant with my fifth, I hired Nanny Aimee, and shortly after that, we hired Producer Shannon. What we had now, in terms of help, was more than enough for the time being. It allowed me to be present with both my children and my followers in all the ways I wanted to be at all the different points throughout the day. That’s the thing about being a mother and a wife and an influencer, all at the same time: it’s basically like breastfeeding three babies simultaneously. Like seducing three lovers at once.

Why don’t you ever show all the help you have behind the scenes?

“We love our employees like they’re family, so we go to great means to protect their privacy as they’ve requested. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if my social media account ended up compromising them in any way.”

When I stepped into the kitchen, Producer Shannon was in the corner, fiddling with a tripod, and my four oldest children were eating breakfast at the table, each wearing a thick wool sweater. Nanny Louise was helping Jessa, our three-and-a-half-year-old, as she poured orange juice into her glass.

“I can do it myself,” Jessa whined.

Nanny Louise, who also served as our homeschooling teacher, nodded and said, “Of course you can. Look. You’re doing it right now. All by yourself. Big girl.”

Jessa grinned, the verbal pronouncement of her autonomy enough to make her forget how Nanny Louise’s hands never left the cup. “Big girl,” she echoed. Nanny Louise tipped the glass, and my little girl drank greedily. I watched with approval as the pulp dripped down her chin. The orange juice was homemade. The tutorial would go online later this week.

“Good morning!” I said to the room. Six heads swiveled toward me. A chirpy chorus of Morning, Mama came in reply.

I made my way around the table, kissing each perfect cheek, ruffling each perfect head. All my children, even the boys, wore their hair long. The girls looked just like me: freckled, narrow faces, soil-dark hair, expressions prone to penetrating seriousness. Catch one of us in a pouting moment, and you’d be forgiven for summoning images of some sixteenth-century martyr on a hunger strike. As for the boys, they looked like Caleb: ruddy cheeks, big toothy smiles. When they were all walking in a group (and they often were; the boys worshiped Caleb) they made me think of a trio of politicians in lockstep, scouring the land in search of babies to kiss.

I rarely paid attention to the differences in the children. Both the girls and the boys spoke similarly, laughed similarly. Their clothing was a rainbow of neutrals. The same pile of olive and tan and ocher had been tumbling down our growing family tree for ten years now.

It’s amazing how long good cotton can last.

I walked over to my two boys, Stetson and Samuel. Stetson was nine years old, a full year older than Samuel, but as of last summer the boys were the same height, same weight. With their shoulder-length hair and the way they seemed to do everything—run, play, do chores, shovel food into their mouths—in jerky, awkward-limbed unison, they reminded me of a pair of dressage ponies.

I rested a hand on either head as they ate their cereal with little-boy gusto, felt their skulls move around beneath my palms like possessed bulldozer levers. “What’s on the docket for today, boys?”

“Needa builda new enclosure for the heifers,” Stetson said, mouth full.

“Mmm,” I said. “Very important. Papa will love the help.”

“Papa said I could use the nail gun.”

Samuel shoved Stetson, knocking the spoonful of cereal out of Stetson’s hand and sending it clattering to the floor. “It’s my turn to use the nail gun.”

“You’ll both use the nail gun,” I said. “Nanny Louise . . . ?”

She nodded, wiped the pulpy juice from Jessa’s cheeks and chin, then got up to clean up the mess.

People refused to believe my babies were as amenable as they appeared online. There’s no way this is their actual life!!!!, the Angry Women would write. (That’s what Caleb and I called them. The Angry Women.) To which I would reply: absolutely nothing, of course. A mother’s main task is to protect her children from the world. There was no need for some hateful witch in Manhattan to see how physical Samuel got with his brother (and even his sisters, sometimes), no need for them to witness Stetson’s daily tantrum over arithmetic (I loved that boy, but he had not been gifted with a standard helping of brains). If the Angry Women found out about any of my children’s failings, they’d go crazy with bloodthirst. They’d also be devastated. None of them realized it, of course, but they needed me as much as I needed them. It was a symbiotic relationship. I was a shark, and they were five million tiny fish, nipping at the nutrients along my belly.

Little idiots. They were desperate to eat me. They had no idea I was the one who was keeping them alive.

How does it feel to know that millions of people around the world know intimate details about your children?

“I show only very selective moments of my children’s lives. And besides, none of them have any access to screens—have you seen the studies, by the way? Of what screen time does to children’s brains? If you ask me, my children are much better off in this household, where they occasionally show up in videos for my account, than in some other household where they’d be staring at an iPad all night. I mean, really.” Sympathetic cluck. “It’s an epidemic. So sad. You should look into that.”

“You’re up early,” I remarked to Producer Shannon as I poured my coffee.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said. She was frowning at one of the knobs on the camera, twisting it one way, then the other, a grumpy expression on her face. When Shannon first showed up at the ranch, she was nineteen years old, a Barnard dropout with pink hair and a nose ring who was willing to do professional work at a student rate. Now she was twenty-one. The nose ring remained; the pink hair had been abandoned in the name of her natural brown. I wasn’t sure if that was an indication of any personal identity shift so much as a practical acceptance of the realities of living an hour away from the closest city. Not exactly many options when it came to qualified hair colorists near a five-hundred-acre farm.

I paused, then said delicately, “Are you having those dreams again?”

She looked at me. “Who told you about that?”

In the dreams, Shannon stood on the nearby hillside, watching the farm burn to the ground. The house, the chicken coop, the gardens: all aflame. Car-size balls of fire raining down from the violet heavens. As the fire spread across the fields, she would run—or try to run—while the barn collapsed, the animals screaming in the rubble. Sometimes she could see us in the distance, waving to her. Saying something. And sometimes—when the dream lasted this long—she could see beams of light shooting down from the heavens, shining grace onto my children and Caleb and me. Saving everyone but her.

“Nanny Louise is worried about you,” I said—which was more diplomatic, I thought, than Nanny Louise is sick of being startled awake in the middle of the night by screaming. All our farm employees lived in a set of rooms above the stables, next to the homeschooling classroom.

“I’m fine,” Shannon said. “It’s no big deal.” She leaned past me to plug in a battery charger. For a moment, we were silent, standing side by side in the small corner of the house where we spent nearly all our waking hours together.

You might just have the most beloved kitchen in America, these days. Can you tell us a little bit about it?

“Oh, gosh—where do I even start?”

Through the camera’s discerning eye, the cooking space was perfectly cluttered: a half-filled mason jar of water here, a flour spill there, a few forgotten flower stems strewn across a worn-looking cutting board. It looked like a space where a mother worked; like a kitchen in the real world, only obviously better than anything the real world had to offer. People think they want minimalism, they think they want a house absent of stuff, when in fact a perfectly uncluttered home makes them want to kill themselves. A space must always look lived-in for someone to want to live in it. This is a completely obvious notion, when you take a moment to really think about it, but most people don’t take a moment to really think about anything. Most people are morons.\"},{\"id\":\"131642414T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Natalie seemingly has it all: the perfect husband, adorable children and a thriving social media empire — but things are about to change. When she suddenly wakes up in a crude rendering of her pampered life, a darkly hilarious story unfolds. This electrifying debut novel about the unraveling of a lifestyle influencer is a sharp, unmissable commentary on family, faith and fame.

\"},{\"id\":\"125628485T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

CARO CLAIRE BURKE received her Master’s in Fine Arts from the Bennington Writing Seminars. She is the co-host of Diabolical Lies, a politics and culture podcast. Yesteryear is her first novel.

\"},{\"id\":\"131642419T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"CARO CLAIRE BURKE received her Master’s in Fine Arts from the Bennington Writing Seminars. She is the co-host of Diabolical Lies, a politics and culture podcast. Yesteryear is her first novel.\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/57983329730801","gid://shopify/Metafield/57983328944369","gid://shopify/Metafield/57983329665265","gid://shopify/Metafield/57983329272049","[{\"contributorId\":32264489,\"fullName\":\"Caro Claire Burke\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",[7027],{"_148":7028,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":7029,"_3716":7030,"_5881":7031,"_5883":7032,"_5885":7033,"_5887":6982,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46661011833073",{"_5892":6668,"_5894":5895},{"_148":7036,"_144":7037,"_5898":-5,"_3989":7038,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":7035,"_5894":5895},{"_76":6981,"_41":6982},[7034],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"25.0","gid://shopify/ProductImage/47563197907185","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9780593804216_p0.jpg?v=1775530100",1351,{"_5892":6668,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6668,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":7035,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/8833887928561","Lake Effect: A Novel","9780063377684","From the New York Times bestselling author of The Nest and Good Company comes a wry and tender portrait of two families forever changed by one lovestruck decision that will reverberate for decades.It's 1977 and an air of restlessness has settled on the residents of Cambridge Road in Rochester, New York, a place long fueled by the booming fortunes of Kodak and Xerox and, for some, the mores of the Catholic church. When Nina Larkin is given a copy of The Joy of Sex by her newly divorced friend, she can no longer dismiss the nearly nonexistent intimacy of her marriage. Just as her oldest child, Clara, is falling in love for the first time, Nina finds herself longing for the forbidden: a midlife awakening. An intoxicating fling with a prominent neighbor brings Nina a freedom she never thought possible-but also risks the reputations of both families and unravels Clara's world, just as she stands on the threshold of adulthood.Years later, Clara, now a successful food stylist in New York City, has never been able to move past the long-ago scandal. Drawn back home by the pull of a family wedding and wrestling with her own demons, she makes a pivotal decision that turns her life upside down. Written with Cynthia D'Aprix Sweeney's signature humor and insight, Lake Effect is a wise and probing look at love and desire, mothers and daughters, loss and grief, and what we owe the people we love most.","

From the New York Times bestselling author of The Nest and Good Company comes a wry and tender portrait of two families forever changed by one lovestruck decision that will reverberate for decades.

It's 1977 and an air of restlessness has settled on the residents of Cambridge Road in Rochester, New York, a place long fueled by the booming fortunes of Kodak and Xerox and, for some, the mores of the Catholic church. When Nina Larkin is given a copy of The Joy of Sex by her newly divorced friend, she can no longer dismiss the nearly nonexistent intimacy of her marriage. Just as her oldest child, Clara, is falling in love for the first time, Nina finds herself longing for the forbidden: a midlife awakening. An intoxicating fling with a prominent neighbor brings Nina a freedom she never thought possible-but also risks the reputations of both families and unravels Clara's world, just as she stands on the threshold of adulthood.

Years later, Clara, now a successful food stylist in New York City, has never been able to move past the long-ago scandal. Drawn back home by the pull of a family wedding and wrestling with her own demons, she makes a pivotal decision that turns her life upside down. Written with Cynthia D'Aprix Sweeney's signature humor and insight, Lake Effect is a wise and probing look at love and desire, mothers and daughters, loss and grief, and what we owe the people we love most.

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“Astute and immersive with a surprising twist.” - People

“An insightful, beautiful tearjerker of a book.” - Real Simple

“Sharply observed.” - Boston Globe

“This is basically Anne Tyler with better sex. . . . . Sweeney carries off something immensely difficult and heartening — a braiding of hurt and forgiveness, sadness and love, that feels strong enough to last.” - Ron Charles, Substack

“A propulsive read that covers everything from intimacy to family dynamics and trust, Lake Effect is a zip of a book.” - Marie Claire

“Lake Effect opens in 1977, Rochester, which is so precise you could almost smell it . . . if you like a big, messy family story—this is definitely a book for you.\\\" - New York Times Book Review podcast

“Gen X, this is for you.” - Parade

“Dazzling . . . Funny . . . Everyone in Sweeney’s big-hearted book is given choices and those tiny, blink-or-you’ll-miss-it opportunities add up to extraordinary lives.” - Star Tribune

“Satisfying. . . . Sweeney captures the zeitgeist of the ‘70s with key passages in cultural history: along with the divorce spike of those years, the plot weaves in the research at Xerox that ultimately led to the personal computer, the early days of cable food shows, the beginnings of the AIDS epidemic, the way people could disappear in a time before email and smartphones and social media, and more. . . . .Sweeney’s insight into all the ways people who love each other end up at bitter odds gives the warm-hearted novel a welcome bite. An inviting family drama with the warmth, interest, and edge readers love in Sweeney’s work.”

- Kirkus Reviews (starred)

“I absolutely love this book. It is perfection.” - Sarah Gelman, CBS Mornings

“Sweeney brings significant psychological acuity to everything from midlife sexuality to adolescent cafeteria drama to postpartum depression.\\\" - New York Times Book Review

\\\"A story of desire, jealousy, fragile family bonds, and choices both freeing and haunting, this is a gift from Sweeney.\\\" - Library Journal (starred review)

“A reverberating, intergenerational family saga . . . Artful [and] fresh.” - Booklist (starred)

“Sweeney excels at exploring how the characters are shaped over time by their complex family dynamics. (As Clara’s new boyfriend puts it: ‘People change. We change. Sometimes for the better.’) The author’s fans will enjoy this.” - Publishers Weekly

“Sweeney writes with clarity, compassion, a bit of humor and an emphasis on food. . . One of the book’s epigraphs is from M.F.K. Fisher, who reminds the reader that when she wrote of hunger she wrote of love. In Lake Effect, Sweeney does the same.” - BookPage

\\\"[A] warm and self-deprecating novel of family life.\\\" - Zoomer

“Layered, rich and full of surprises, Cynthia D'Aprix Sweeney’s Lake Effect is a heartfelt, kaleidoscopic portrait of how, in the ecosystem of family, one seismic decision can reverberate for decades. With tremendous insight, and sometimes sensuous prose, D'Aprix Sweeney has crafted a story with so much life, it grabs at your heart and keeps you wanting more.” - Xochitl Gonzalez, author of Anita de Monte Laughs Last

“A sparkling novel of love and family and the wreckage of a passionate affair. Lake Effect is tender and bittersweet, a joyful classic in the making.” - Jenny Jackson, New York Times bestselling author of Pineapple Street

\\\"Lake Effect is utterly compelling and beautifully told. Tracing the far-reaching tremors of an affair, Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney takes a familiar premise and makes it feel entirely new and original. Moving nimbly between viewpoints, she illuminates even her characters’ darkest, most regrettable moments with clarity and insight.\\\" - Florence Knapp, author of The Names

“Lake Effect pulled me right into its messy, intimate web of neighbors, lovers, mothers, and daughters. Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney brings warmth and humor to this nuanced exploration of betrayal and its echoes, drawing each character’s perspective so finely that I could swear I know these people. I could not put it down!” - Shelby Van Pelt, author of Remarkably Bright Creatures

\"},{\"id\":\"122386044T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

One decision can change your life — and the lives of those around you. Years after her mother’s affair, Clara grapples with the choices that changed her family forever.

\"},{\"id\":\"133601542T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

One decision can change your life — and the lives of those around you. Years after her mother’s affair, Clara grapples with the choices that changed her family forever.

\"},{\"id\":\"114660912T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Cynthia D'Aprix Sweeney is the author of the instant New York Times bestselling novels The Nest (named a best book of the year by People, the Washington Post, and NPR) and Good Company (a Read with Jenna selection). She has been a guest on Today, Late Night with Seth Meyers and NPR's All Things Considered. Her work has been translated into more than twenty-eight languages, and The Nest is in development as a limited series with AMC Studios. Sweeney holds an MFA from the Bennington Writing Seminars. She and her husband live in New York City.

\"},{\"id\":\"113105689T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney is the author of the instant New York Times bestselling novels The Nest (named a best book of the year by People, the Washington Post, and NPR) and Good Company (a Read with Jenna selection). She has been a guest on Today, Late Night with Seth Meyers and NPR’s All Things Considered. Her work has been translated into more than 28 languages, and The Nest is in development as a limited series with AMC Studios. Sweeney holds an MFA from the Bennington Writing Seminars. She and her husband live in New York City.

\"},{\"id\":\"118796720T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney is the author of the instant New York Times bestselling novels The Nest (named a best book of the year by People, the Washington Post, and NPR) and Good Company (a Read with Jenna selection). She has been a guest on Today, Late Night with Seth Meyers and NPR’s All Things Considered. Her work has been translated into more than twenty-eight languages, and The Nest is in development as a limited series with AMC Studios. Sweeney holds an MFA from the Bennington Writing Seminars. She and her husband live in New York City.

\"},{\"id\":\"113105558T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney is the author of the instant New York Times bestselling novels The Nest (named a best book of the year by People, the Washington Post, and NPR) and Good Company (a Read with Jenna selection). She has been a guest on Today, Late Night with Seth Meyers and NPR’s All Things Considered. Her work has been translated into more than 28 languages, and The Nest is in development as a limited series with AMC Studios. Sweeney holds an MFA from the Bennington Writing Seminars. She and her husband live in New York City.

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It’s a noisy world out there, and simple cooking is our solution.

Bring Yotam Ottolenghi’s innovation to your everyday with 135 new recipes for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert.

Every dish has simplicity at its core and can be made in under 30 minutes, cooked in one pot, or prepped ahead. Whatever your barriers to cooking, this book brings you into the kitchen with a promise that even the simplest of meals can be full of flavor and joy.",{"_148":7169,"_144":7170,"_3989":7171,"_3985":6142,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":7175},{"_5902":7173,"_5904":7174},{"_5873":7159},{"_5838":7146},{"_5838":7115},{"_5838":5797},[7126,-5,-5,7127,7128,-5,7129,7130,7131,7132,7133,-5,7134,7135,-5,7136,7137,7138],{"_148":7157,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":7158},{"_148":7156,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":7155,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":7154,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":7152,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":7153},{"_148":7150,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":7151},{"_148":7148,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":7149},{"_148":7147,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":7145,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":7146},{"_148":7144,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":7115},{"_148":7143,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":7141,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":7142},{"_148":7139,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":7140},"gid://shopify/Metafield/194419986890993","9","gid://shopify/Metafield/194621808836849","{\"scale_min\":\"1.0\",\"scale_max\":\"5.0\",\"value\":\"4.8\"}","gid://shopify/Metafield/75129685606641","gid://shopify/Metafield/75129684721905","gid://shopify/Metafield/78682070319345","[\"B|$5 Off|#DD2A27|#701F15 (p7848)\",\"BADGE - $5 OFF (p7876)\",\"Beautiful Books for Your Coffee Table & More (p6400)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/75129685508337","gid://shopify/Metafield/75129685180657","1149268519","gid://shopify/Metafield/75129685836017","Ottolenghi-Simple-Too/Yotam-Ottolenghi","gid://shopify/Metafield/75129686098161","[{\"id\":\"133265835T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Introduction

It’s a noisy world out there, and simple cooking is our solution.

I open my fridge and here’s what I see:

A jar of green sauce I made on Sunday.
Green onion oil in a small bottle, the onions settling darkly at the bottom.
Half a cabbage, looking tired.
Eggs.
A sharp eggplant pickle, a recipe from a lady I met in Geneva.
Four chicken thighs.
Four types of mustard.
Tahini running low (. . . who put it in the fridge?!!!).
Date molasses.
Kefir, my morning fix.

About six dinner possibilities sit between these shelves. Many more if I venture into the pantry (all my dried beans, pastas, and things in jars). Even more if I brave the back of the freezer (some chicken stock, a block of halva, a vegetable soup from a few weeks back, from memory).

Three shelves of cookbooks eye me up. Instead, I look at my phone.

My colleague sent me this beautiful short film about the Cook family in Yorkshire. They’re harvesting rhubarb by candlelight in these greenhouses, and apparently you can hear the rhubarb growing—a soft creaking as the stalks push toward the light. Twenty minutes, gone.

I’ve neglected my Monday newsletter long read. And I should really complete my Connections and Wordle. Oh, and that missed call from my friend.

Wait. What am I doing here?

Oh, right. Dinner.

Food writer Ruby Tandoh asks the same question in All Consuming.

We’re window-shopping. Scrolling through “a lineup of tens of thousands of possible ragùs,” cross-referencing debates in the comments, chasing something we can’t quite name. We lose track of what we actually came here to do.

I sigh, close my phone, and look back at my fridge.

What’s in front of me: condiments and oils and pickles and preserves. A few options of slightly tired-looking veg and so much Tupperware full of leftovers from a day’s work at the test kitchen. I am spoiled for riches.

My cooking has always been this eclectic mix of everything happening around me. Restaurants I’ve loved, the people I’m cooking with, the places I’ve traveled to. An Aleppo chilli paste is a recent example, a gift from Laila, a friend of the test kitchen who came to visit. She fed us a Syrian breakfast while showing us videos of her sister drying the thousands of Aleppo chiles that go into the very paste we were eating.

These jars and remnants, though, are also shaped by the simple logistics of my life.

I’m taking my son to the local skateparks on Saturday mornings, negotiating sleepovers, explaining (again) why we can’t get a dog. Friday nights at friends’ houses as respite, where someone else is cooking and I get to just show up. The weekly grocery shopping that takes twice as long as it should. Work that expands to fill whatever time I give it. Travel for leisure when I can manage it, travel for work most of the time.

I’m a father, a son, a friend, a colleague. I’m someone who’s hungry at 7 p.m. on a Tuesday and needs an answer to “What’s for dinner?”

So I guess the contents of my fridge and pantry, and the way I eat in general, are more of a response to the managed chaos of my life.

This is my life, of course, but it’s similar to many others’ lives, those with leaner pantries, perhaps, and different kinds of hectic schedules—well-meaning cooks wanting to make the correct decisions about how to feed themselves and the people they love, not to miss out on modern life’s abundant opportunities (FOMO, may I say?) and, at the same time, eat well.

When it comes to food, we all really want the same thing—to eat well and find real joy in it, to get excited by food, surprised by it, occasionally transported. But we also want to be more present in our lives and, frankly, sometimes it’s just about getting a meal on the table that everyone’s happy to eat. We don’t want cooking to become another thing we’re failing at, another source of low-grade guilt about not being the person we thought we’d be by now.

It’s easy to be paralyzed by the endless cues, possibilities, and ragùs. But one thing we can do is cook.

Eight years ago I published Simple, which was about finding a way to make cooking feel achievable. Not compromising on flavor, but recognizing that “simple” means something different to everyone. For some, that’s cooking dinner in half an hour. For others, it’s about a slow-cooking dish that bubbles away while they’re in the garden. Or even having everything ready a day in advance. The book also made the case for pomegranate molasses and rose harissa as weeknight standbys, not strangers.

Simple Too is an extension of Simple, yes, but it’s also a response to where our lives are now. My coauthor on the book, Verena Lochmuller, is a talented chef and one of the most creative perfectionists I know. What and how she cooks in the test kitchen is immediately connected to what’s happening in her own home kitchen. The Everyday Granola (p. 30), like so many other recipes, migrated naturally from her pantry and fridge and onto the pages of this book.

Verena and I want to acknowledge here how we, that is, people in general, actually cook, which is often messily or distractedly, with one eye on the clock and the other on a child who needs help with homework.

We hope Simple Too creates a world that allows you to relax a little more in the kitchen. Also, a place to find more recipes to help you use the pantry you’ve already built and the knowledge you already have.

We’ve introduced a Fundamentals section (p. 283): fifteen recipes for things you make once and can use for weeks. Things like green sauce, green onion oil, za’atar oil, Middle Eastern chili crisp, and more. These are the shortcuts that make exciting food possible when you have other things to do. They will sit in your fridge and salute you every time you open the door because you made them; they’re there to save you on a weeknight when you have nothing and no ideas and no energy left.

Everyone’s constraints are different, and they change depending on the day. Sometimes it’s time—you have thirty minutes, twenty even—and that’s it. Sometimes it’s confidence—you’re tired of making the same five things but you’re not sure what else you can pull off. Sometimes it’s decision-making—you’re standing in front of a supermarket shelf crowded with all the ingredients in the world and you just can’t decide.

So here’s the deal: whatever your particular barriers to cooking are—time, confidence, decision paralysis, or the general noise that distracts and numbs—we’ve put together a collection of dishes whose sole purpose is to bring you into the kitchen with a promise that simple solutions are within reach, both technically and mentally.

All the recipes in this book are full of flavor and intensity, and yet they are also comforting; they’re for feeding friends, family, and yourselves, with an honest nod to the reality of how we actually live and cook.

Yes, there’s a world out there, wonderfully rich and seductive and bustling—a world worthy of a big embrace—but we also ask you to stop, take a minute or two, and listen to the soup bubble, the egg crackle or, possibly, even the rhubarb grow.

Yotam Ottolenghi \"},{\"id\":\"129679735T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Save on time, not on flavor, with Yotam Ottolenghi’s delicious new batch of recipes. Perfect for busy home cooks looking for inspiration from breakfast to dessert, these one-pot meals are guaranteed to please.

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Yotam Ottolenghi is a New York Times bestselling cookbook author who contributes to the New York Times Food section and has a weekly column in The Guardian. His Ottolenghi Simple was selected as a best book of the year by NPR and the New York Times; Jerusalem, written with Sami Tamimi, was awarded Cookbook of the Year by the International Association of Culinary Professionals and named Best International Cookbook by the James Beard Foundation. He lives in London, where he co-owns an eponymous group of restaurants and the fine-dining destinations Nopi and Rovi.

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\"A beautifully written instant classic. Strangers is gripping and heartbreaking and a must-read for every wife-and husband.\"-Graydon Carter

\"Asks us to examine life's most perplexing questions: Can we see the invisible fault lines in a marriage or truly know the people closest to us?\"-Lori Gottlieb

FINALIST FOR THE NEW ENGLAND BOOK AWARD

It was a great love story, one for the ages. The speed of our beginning and the speed of our ending felt like matching bookends. They both came out of nowhere. He wanted it, he wanted me. And then he didn't.

In March 2020, Belle Burden was safe and secure with her family at their house on Martha's Vineyard, navigating the early days of the pandemic together-building fires in the late afternoons, drinking whisky sours, making roast chicken. Then, with no warning or explanation, her husband of twenty years announced that he was leaving her. Overnight, her caring, steady partner became a man she hardly recognized. He exited his life with her like an actor shrugging off a costume.

In Strangers, Burden revisits her marriage, searching for clues that her husband was not who she always thought he was. As she examines her relationship through a new lens, she reckons with her own family history and the lessons she intuited about how a woman is expected to behave in the face of betrayal. Through all of it, she is transformed. The discreet, compliant woman she once was-someone nicknamed \"Belle the Good\"-gives way to someone braver, someone determined to use her voice.

With unflinching honesty and profound grace, Burden charts a path through heartbreak to show the power of a woman who refuses to give up on love. Strangers is a stunning, deeply moving, compulsively readable memoir heralding the arrival of a thrilling new literary talent.",{"_148":7260,"_144":7261,"_3989":6357,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":7264},{"_5902":7262,"_5904":7263},{"_5873":7252},{"_5838":7239},{"_5838":7209},{"_5838":5797},[7220,-5,-5,7221,7222,-5,7223,7224,7225,7226,7227,-5,7228,7229,-5,7230,7231,7232],{"_148":7250,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":7251},{"_148":7249,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":7248,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":7247,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":7245,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":7246},{"_148":7243,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":7244},{"_148":7241,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":7242},{"_148":7240,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":7238,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":7239},{"_148":7237,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":7209},{"_148":7236,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":7235,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":5841},{"_148":7233,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":7234},"gid://shopify/Metafield/79678209884401","34","gid://shopify/Metafield/79678209917169","gid://shopify/Metafield/40878993375473","gid://shopify/Metafield/40878991802609","gid://shopify/Metafield/78037385642225","[\"Bonus $10 Reward on Our Favorite Books (p10710)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/40878993244401","gid://shopify/Metafield/40878992818417","1147241871","gid://shopify/Metafield/40878993801457","Strangers/Belle-Burden","gid://shopify/Metafield/40878994129137","[{\"id\":\"122228053T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Each spring, an osprey couple returns to the same nest on our property on Martha's Vineyard. The nest is on the edge of a lake that leads into Vineyard Sound, facing west. In lucky years, eggs appear in the nest in May, chicks in June. In July, the juvenile ospreys learn to fly. By September, the family is gone, headed to the Caribbean or South America for the winter.

When we bought our house in 2005, my husband, James, became obsessed with the osprey couple, with the magic of their annual return to the same location. He was always anxious, waiting to see if they would appear, if they would produce eggs, if the eggs would survive raccoons and crows, our local predators. Every year, he celebrated when the juveniles flew for the first time.

He drew me and our three young children into the drama of the ospreys, pointing them out as they soared above us, leading us in yelling \\\"Hi, Ossey!\\\" and waving at the sky. He took us into the woods to see their nest wedged high in a tree. He befriended two local osprey experts, older men who invited us to watch them tag an osprey at dawn. They attached a device that would track the bird's movements during the winter. The kids, still in their pajamas, were awestruck by the creature that looked so much larger on the ground than it did in the sky. The experts named the tagged osprey after me and sent us updates on Belle's progress throughout the winter. We worried for her and toasted her return.

After raccoons ravaged the ospreys' eggs two years in a row, the experts installed a pole in the same area as the original nest, designed to deter climbing animals. The tree stayed empty for a few years and then, to our astonishment, a small nest appeared. The nest grew steadily, becoming more majestic every summer, a landmark visible to swimmers and boaters across the lake. After a decade, it measured more than four feet wide and three feet tall, one of the biggest nests on the island.

When we arrived on the Vineyard in March of 2020, the nest was empty. The birds were still warming themselves in the southern hemisphere, perhaps beginning their pilgrimage back to the island, making their way over the Caribbean Sea and Florida, continuing north, hugging the coastline, as a virus, first found in China, made its own explosive journey through the United States. My husband and I walked around the pole in our wool hats and parkas, our boots sinking in the marsh. The nest was intact, unchanged from the previous fall. Even in the bitter air, even with sharp sticks poking out of every side, it looked strong and stable. Welcoming. We smiled at each other and talked about the couple's return. Would we be here to see it?

After the pandemic shuttered New York City, where we lived most of the year, we decided to quarantine on Martha's Vineyard with our two youngest children, then fifteen and twelve. It made sense to move to the Vineyard; our house there was isolated and it was our favorite place in the world. The hedge fund where James worked had gone remote, and my legal work could be done from anywhere.

We arrived on March 15. The island was still firmly in winter, with temperatures in the thirties, the trees barren and the light flat. An icy wind whipped around us as we unloaded the car, unpacking sweaters and boots, the girls' textbooks and cellos, one larger than the other. James set up his home office on a card table in the living room, rising at 4 a.m. to worry over the markets. He cut three different kinds of wood and built gorgeous fires in the late afternoon. He made me whiskey sours as the sun set (we believed reports that whiskey would kill the virus) and locked every door of the house at night, even though the island's population was sparse and, like New York, in lockdown. He seemed proud of his role as father and husband, nurturing us, protecting us.

I went for walks, tried to keep up with house cleaning and laundry, and watched the news throughout the day. There were images of overflowing emergency rooms, hospital tents in Central Park, refrigerated trucks filled with corpses. More than 20,000 people had died in New York City. There was no vaccine, and no timeline for one. Even in our isolation, even with our privilege, I was afraid.

I often sought out James in the woods. Out of our daughters' earshot, we would talk about the latest pandemic news, whether we should wear masks or gloves to the grocery store, if we needed to isolate grocery bags and packages before we unpacked them. James would kiss the top of my head as I hugged him, gripping the back of his sweater.

Our younger daughter, Carrie, discovered Fortnite and played remote games with her friends in our guest bedroom, her small body dwarfed by a giant armchair. Our older daughter, Evie, wanted to learn to make fresh pasta. She started with gnocchi and served it for dinner on March 21, the first night of spring. James made a roast chicken to accompany Evie's dish, using our outdoor grill as an oven, standing on our deck in the dark, adjusting the knobs, making sure the temperature stayed at four hundred degrees. It came out perfectly: moist and golden brown.

We ate at our rectangular wooden table in the kitchen. I wore pajamas with a thick wool sweater and socks, my hair still wet from the shower, piled into a bun on the top of my head. The wind howled as we ate. James seemed distracted and kept eating the gnocchi directly from the bowl rather than serving himself, a pet peeve of mine. He removed the oyster from the chicken, the piece he'd taught the kids to covet, and gave it to Carrie.

I FaceTimed our son, Finn, who was staying with his friend's family on Long Island, joining a group of teenagers. At seventeen, we knew he would be happier with his friends, and we thought his time away from us would be limited, a couple of weeks at most. I held up my phone so we could all see his face. We told him we missed him.

After we finished eating, James left the kitchen to make a work call. The girls went to the living room to watch television. Alone, I soaked the pans, loaded the dishwasher, wiped down the table. As I was filling a bucket with water and white vinegar to mop the floor, my cell phone rang, glowing and vibrating on the kitchen island. I didn't recognize the number, so I let it go to voicemail. When my phone pinged to register the message, I put down the bucket and pressed play. It was a man's voice. He sounded young and nervous.

He said, \\\"I'm trying to reach Belle.\\\" He paused. \\\"I'm sorry to tell you this, but your husband is having an affair with my wife.\\\" He gave his name and number.

I froze, feeling dizzy. The words didn't make sense. I gripped my phone and pressed the play arrow again, listening to the man's soft voice for the second time. I thought, This can't be true. This must be a mistake. James will explain this.

I leaned the mop against the island and went to find him, descending our stairs just as he ascended them. He was coming to find me. He looked anxious, worried.

He put his hand on the small of my back and guided me into the guest bedroom, the room set up with Fortnite, with empty packets of Cheddar Bunnies on the rug. He sat down on the couch. I sat in a chair to his right. There was a long pause, as if he was collecting his thoughts, searching for the right words to say to make this go away. I thought he would do that-he would make it go away. I waited.

He took both my hands, leaned forward, and looked me straight in the eye. He said, \\\"I promise you, this meant nothing. It's over. I love you and only you. I'm so sorry. I'm so embarrassed.\\\"

I asked, \\\"How long has it been going on?\\\"

He answered, \\\"Only a few weeks.\\\"

I looked down at his hands, at my body, and felt ashamed of my matronly pajamas and my socks, an oil stain from dinner on the thin cotton of my pajama pants.

His platinum wedding band, on his ring finger, looked scuffed from years of wear. My fingers, underneath his, were bare. I had taken off my rings, including my diamond wedding band, the day before. A friend had told me that the virus could hide under rings, evading Purell and soap, so I had pulled them off, dropping them in a jar of jewelry cleaner. For a split second I thought, Did taking off my wedding ring cause this? Did I shake something loose in the universe?

\\\"What is her name?\\\" I asked.

\\\"It doesn't matter,\\\" he said.

\\\"I'm going to call her husband back, so you might as well tell me.\\\"

He said the name. It was generic and, like my maiden name, alliterative; it sounded sweet.

\\\"Where did you meet her?\\\" I asked.

He said she was a banker. They'd met through work. He said, \\\"We had this attraction.\\\"

He pulled his hands from mine and held them up to demonstrate the force pulling them together, his hands cupped, fingers spread, like he was holding a basketball. \\\"But, I swear, it didn't mean anything.\\\"

\\\"Does she have children?\\\" I asked.

He nodded and said, \\\"She has two kids.\\\"\"},{\"id\":\"130799725T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Each spring, an osprey couple returns to the same nest on our property on Martha’s Vineyard. The nest is on the edge of a lake that leads into Vineyard Sound, facing west. In lucky years, eggs appear in the nest in May, chicks in June. In July, the juvenile ospreys learn to fly. By September, the family is gone, headed to the Caribbean or South America for the winter.

When we bought our house in 2005, my husband, James, became obsessed with the osprey couple, with the magic of their annual return to the same location. He was always anxious, waiting to see if they would appear, if they would produce eggs, if the eggs would survive raccoons and crows, our local predators. Every year, he celebrated when the juveniles flew for the first time.

He drew me and our three young children into the drama of the ospreys, pointing them out as they soared above us, leading us in yelling “Hi, Ossey!” and waving at the sky. He took us into the woods to see their nest wedged high in a tree. He befriended two local osprey experts, older men who invited us to watch them tag an osprey at dawn. They attached a device that would track the bird’s movements during the winter. The kids, still in their pajamas, were awestruck by the creature that looked so much larger on the ground than it did in the sky. The experts named the tagged osprey after me and sent us updates on Belle’s progress throughout the winter. We worried for her and toasted her return.

After raccoons ravaged the ospreys’ eggs two years in a row, the experts installed a pole in the same area as the original nest, designed to deter climbing animals. The tree stayed empty for a few years and then, to our astonishment, a small nest appeared. The nest grew steadily, becoming more majestic every summer, a landmark visible to swimmers and boaters across the lake. After a decade, it measured more than four feet wide and three feet tall, one of the biggest nests on the island.

When we arrived on the Vineyard in March of 2020, the nest was empty. The birds were still warming themselves in the southern hemisphere, perhaps beginning their pilgrimage back to the island, making their way over the Caribbean Sea and Florida, continuing north, hugging the coastline, as a virus, first found in China, made its own explosive journey through the United States. My husband and I walked around the pole in our wool hats and parkas, our boots sinking in the marsh. The nest was intact, unchanged from the previous fall. Even in the bitter air, even with sharp sticks poking out of every side, it looked strong and stable. Welcoming. We smiled at each other and talked about the couple’s return. Would we be here to see it?

After the pandemic shuttered New York City, where we lived most of the year, we decided to quarantine on Martha’s Vineyard with our two youngest children, then fifteen and twelve. It made sense to move to the Vineyard; our house there was isolated and it was our favorite place in the world. The hedge fund where James worked had gone remote, and my legal work could be done from anywhere.

We arrived on March 15. The island was still firmly in winter, with temperatures in the thirties, the trees barren and the light flat. An icy wind whipped around us as we unloaded the car, unpacking sweaters and boots, the girls’ textbooks and cellos, one larger than the other. James set up his home office on a card table in the living room, rising at 4 a.m. to worry over the markets. He cut three different kinds of wood and built gorgeous fires in the late afternoon. He made me whiskey sours as the sun set (we believed reports that whiskey would kill the virus) and locked every door of the house at night, even though the island’s population was sparse and, like New York, in lockdown. He seemed proud of his role as father and husband, nurturing us, protecting us.

I went for walks, tried to keep up with house cleaning and laundry, and watched the news throughout the day. There were images of overflowing emergency rooms, hospital tents in Central Park, refrigerated trucks filled with corpses. More than 20,000 people had died in New York City. There was no vaccine, and no timeline for one. Even in our isolation, even with our privilege, I was afraid.

I often sought out James in the woods. Out of our daughters’ earshot, we would talk about the latest pandemic news, whether we should wear masks or gloves to the grocery store, if we needed to isolate grocery bags and packages before we unpacked them. James would kiss the top of my head as I hugged him, gripping the back of his sweater.

Our younger daughter, Carrie, discovered Fortnite and played remote games with her friends in our guest bedroom, her small body dwarfed by a giant armchair. Our older daughter, Evie, wanted to learn to make fresh pasta. She started with gnocchi and served it for dinner on March 21, the first night of spring. James made a roast chicken to accompany Evie’s dish, using our outdoor grill as an oven, standing on our deck in the dark, adjusting the knobs, making sure the temperature stayed at four hundred degrees. It came out perfectly: moist and golden brown.

We ate at our rectangular wooden table in the kitchen. I wore pajamas with a thick wool sweater and socks, my hair still wet from the shower, piled into a bun on the top of my head. The wind howled as we ate. James seemed distracted and kept eating the gnocchi directly from the bowl rather than serving himself, a pet peeve of mine. He removed the oyster from the chicken, the piece he’d taught the kids to covet, and gave it to Carrie.

I FaceTimed our son, Finn, who was staying with his friend’s family on Long Island, joining a group of teenagers. At seventeen, we knew he would be happier with his friends, and we thought his time away from us would be limited, a couple of weeks at most. I held up my phone so we could all see his face. We told him we missed him.

After we finished eating, James left the kitchen to make a work call. The girls went to the living room to watch television. Alone, I soaked the pans, loaded the dishwasher, wiped down the table. As I was filling a bucket with water and white vinegar to mop the floor, my cell phone rang, glowing and vibrating on the kitchen island. I didn’t recognize the number, so I let it go to voicemail. When my phone pinged to register the message, I put down the bucket and pressed play. It was a man’s voice. He sounded young and nervous.

He said, “I’m trying to reach Belle.” He paused. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your husband is having an affair with my wife.” He gave his name and number.

I froze, feeling dizzy. The words didn’t make sense. I gripped my phone and pressed the play arrow again, listening to the man’s soft voice for the second time. I thought, This can’t be true. This must be a mistake. James will explain this.

I leaned the mop against the island and went to find him, descending our stairs just as he ascended them. He was coming to find me. He looked anxious, worried.

He put his hand on the small of my back and guided me into the guest bedroom, the room set up with Fortnite, with empty packets of Cheddar Bunnies on the rug. He sat down on the couch. I sat in a chair to his right. There was a long pause, as if he was collecting his thoughts, searching for the right words to say to make this go away. I thought he would do that—he would make it go away. I waited.

He took both my hands, leaned forward, and looked me straight in the eye. He said, “I promise you, this meant nothing. It’s over. I love you and only you. I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed.”

I asked, “How long has it been going on?”

He answered, “Only a few weeks.”

I looked down at his hands, at my body, and felt ashamed of my matronly pajamas and my socks, an oil stain from dinner on the thin cotton of my pajama pants.

His platinum wedding band, on his ring finger, looked scuffed from years of wear. My fingers, underneath his, were bare. I had taken off my rings, including my diamond wedding band, the day before. A friend had told me that the virus could hide under rings, evading Purell and soap, so I had pulled them off, dropping them in a jar of jewelry cleaner. For a split second I thought, Did taking off my wedding ring cause this? Did I shake something loose in the universe?

“What is her name?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.

“I’m going to call her husband back, so you might as well tell me.”

He said the name. It was generic and, like my maiden name, alliterative; it sounded sweet.

“Where did you meet her?” I asked.

He said she was a banker. They’d met through work. He said, “We had this attraction.”

He pulled his hands from mine and held them up to demonstrate the force pulling them together, his hands cupped, fingers spread, like he was holding a basketball. “But, I swear, it didn’t mean anything.”

“Does she have children?” I asked.

He nodded and said, “She has two kids.”\"},{\"id\":\"122657689T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"Each spring, an osprey couple returns to the same nest on our property on Martha’s Vineyard. The nest is on the edge of a lake that leads into Vineyard Sound, facing west. In lucky years, eggs appear in the nest in May, chicks in June. In July, the juvenile ospreys learn to fly. By September, the family is gone, headed to the Caribbean or South America for the winter.

When we bought our house in 2005, my husband, James, became obsessed with the osprey couple, with the magic of their annual return to the same location. He was always anxious, waiting to see if they would appear, if they would produce eggs, if the eggs would survive raccoons and crows, our local predators. Every year, he celebrated when the juveniles flew for the first time.

He drew me and our three young children into the drama of the ospreys, pointing them out as they soared above us, leading us in yelling “Hi, Ossey!” and waving at the sky. He took us into the woods to see their nest wedged high in a tree. He befriended two local osprey experts, older men who invited us to watch them tag an osprey at dawn. They attached a device that would track the bird’s movements during the winter. The kids, still in their pajamas, were awestruck by the creature that looked so much larger on the ground than it did in the sky. The experts named the tagged osprey after me and sent us updates on Belle’s progress throughout the winter. We worried for her and toasted her return.

After raccoons ravaged the ospreys’ eggs two years in a row, the experts installed a pole in the same area as the original nest, designed to deter climbing animals. The tree stayed empty for a few years and then, to our astonishment, a small nest appeared. The nest grew steadily, becoming more majestic every summer, a landmark visible to swimmers and boaters across the lake. After a decade, it measured more than four feet wide and three feet tall, one of the biggest nests on the island.

When we arrived on the Vineyard in March of 2020, the nest was empty. The birds were still warming themselves in the southern hemisphere, perhaps beginning their pilgrimage back to the island, making their way over the Caribbean Sea and Florida, continuing north, hugging the coastline, as a virus, first found in China, made its own explosive journey through the United States. My husband and I walked around the pole in our wool hats and parkas, our boots sinking in the marsh. The nest was intact, unchanged from the previous fall. Even in the bitter air, even with sharp sticks poking out of every side, it looked strong and stable. Welcoming. We smiled at each other and talked about the couple’s return. Would we be here to see it?

After the pandemic shuttered New York City, where we lived most of the year, we decided to quarantine on Martha’s Vineyard with our two youngest children, then fifteen and twelve. It made sense to move to the Vineyard; our house there was isolated and it was our favorite place in the world. The hedge fund where James worked had gone remote, and my legal work could be done from anywhere.

We arrived on March 15. The island was still firmly in winter, with temperatures in the thirties, the trees barren and the light flat. An icy wind whipped around us as we unloaded the car, unpacking sweaters and boots, the girls’ textbooks and cellos, one larger than the other. James set up his home office on a card table in the living room, rising at 4 a.m. to worry over the markets. He cut three different kinds of wood and built gorgeous fires in the late afternoon. He made me whiskey sours as the sun set (we believed reports that whiskey would kill the virus) and locked every door of the house at night, even though the island’s population was sparse and, like New York, in lockdown. He seemed proud of his role as father and husband, nurturing us, protecting us.

I went for walks, tried to keep up with house cleaning and laundry, and watched the news throughout the day. There were images of overflowing emergency rooms, hospital tents in Central Park, refrigerated trucks filled with corpses. More than 20,000 people had died in New York City. There was no vaccine, and no timeline for one. Even in our isolation, even with our privilege, I was afraid.

I often sought out James in the woods. Out of our daughters’ earshot, we would talk about the latest pandemic news, whether we should wear masks or gloves to the grocery store, if we needed to isolate grocery bags and packages before we unpacked them. James would kiss the top of my head as I hugged him, gripping the back of his sweater.

Our younger daughter, Carrie, discovered Fortnite and played remote games with her friends in our guest bedroom, her small body dwarfed by a giant armchair. Our older daughter, Evie, wanted to learn to make fresh pasta. She started with gnocchi and served it for dinner on March 21, the first night of spring. James made a roast chicken to accompany Evie’s dish, using our outdoor grill as an oven, standing on our deck in the dark, adjusting the knobs, making sure the temperature stayed at four hundred degrees. It came out perfectly: moist and golden brown.

We ate at our rectangular wooden table in the kitchen. I wore pajamas with a thick wool sweater and socks, my hair still wet from the shower, piled into a bun on the top of my head. The wind howled as we ate. James seemed distracted and kept eating the gnocchi directly from the bowl rather than serving himself, a pet peeve of mine. He removed the oyster from the chicken, the piece he’d taught the kids to covet, and gave it to Carrie.

I FaceTimed our son, Finn, who was staying with his friend’s family on Long Island, joining a group of teenagers. At seventeen, we knew he would be happier with his friends, and we thought his time away from us would be limited, a couple of weeks at most. I held up my phone so we could all see his face. We told him we missed him.

After we finished eating, James left the kitchen to make a work call. The girls went to the living room to watch television. Alone, I soaked the pans, loaded the dishwasher, wiped down the table. As I was filling a bucket with water and white vinegar to mop the floor, my cell phone rang, glowing and vibrating on the kitchen island. I didn’t recognize the number, so I let it go to voicemail. When my phone pinged to register the message, I put down the bucket and pressed play. It was a man’s voice. He sounded young and nervous.

He said, “I’m trying to reach Belle.” He paused. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your husband is having an affair with my wife.” He gave his name and number.

I froze, feeling dizzy. The words didn’t make sense. I gripped my phone and pressed the play arrow again, listening to the man’s soft voice for the second time. I thought, This can’t be true. This must be a mistake. James will explain this.

I leaned the mop against the island and went to find him, descending our stairs just as he ascended them. He was coming to find me. He looked anxious, worried.

He put his hand on the small of my back and guided me into the guest bedroom, the room set up with Fortnite, with empty packets of Cheddar Bunnies on the rug. He sat down on the couch. I sat in a chair to his right. There was a long pause, as if he was collecting his thoughts, searching for the right words to say to make this go away. I thought he would do that—he would make it go away. I waited.

He took both my hands, leaned forward, and looked me straight in the eye. He said, “I promise you, this meant nothing. It’s over. I love you and only you. I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed.”

I asked, “How long has it been going on?”

He answered, “Only a few weeks.”

I looked down at his hands, at my body, and felt ashamed of my matronly pajamas and my socks, an oil stain from dinner on the thin cotton of my pajama pants.

His platinum wedding band, on his ring finger, looked scuffed from years of wear. My fingers, underneath his, were bare. I had taken off my rings, including my diamond wedding band, the day before. A friend had told me that the virus could hide under rings, evading Purell and soap, so I had pulled them off, dropping them in a jar of jewelry cleaner. For a split second I thought, Did taking off my wedding ring cause this? Did I shake something loose in the universe?

“What is her name?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.

“I’m going to call her husband back, so you might as well tell me.”

He said the name. It was generic and, like my maiden name, alliterative; it sounded sweet.

“Where did you meet her?” I asked.

He said she was a banker. They’d met through work. He said, “We had this attraction.”

He pulled his hands from mine and held them up to demonstrate the force pulling them together, his hands cupped, fingers spread, like he was holding a basketball. “But, I swear, it didn’t mean anything.”

“Does she have children?” I asked.

He nodded and said, “She has two kids.”\"},{\"id\":\"123990542T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"Each spring, an osprey couple returns to the same nest on our property on Martha’s Vineyard. The nest is on the edge of a lake that leads into Vineyard Sound, facing west. In lucky years, eggs appear in the nest in May, chicks in June. In July, the juvenile ospreys learn to fly. By September, the family is gone, headed to the Caribbean or South America for the winter.

When we bought our house in 2005, my husband, James, became obsessed with the osprey couple, with the magic of their annual return to the same location. He was always anxious, waiting to see if they would appear, if they would produce eggs, if the eggs would survive raccoons and crows, our local predators. Every year, he celebrated when the juveniles flew for the first time.

He drew me and our three young children into the drama of the ospreys, pointing them out as they soared above us, leading us in yelling “Hi, Ossey!” and waving at the sky. He took us into the woods to see their nest wedged high in a tree. He befriended two local osprey experts, older men who invited us to watch them tag an osprey at dawn. They attached a device that would track the bird’s movements during the winter. The kids, still in their pajamas, were awestruck by the creature that looked so much larger on the ground than it did in the sky. The experts named the tagged osprey after me and sent us updates on Belle’s progress throughout the winter. We worried for her and toasted her return.

After raccoons ravaged the ospreys’ eggs two years in a row, the experts installed a pole in the same area as the original nest, designed to deter climbing animals. The tree stayed empty for a few years and then, to our astonishment, a small nest appeared. The nest grew steadily, becoming more majestic every summer, a landmark visible to swimmers and boaters across the lake. After a decade, it measured more than four feet wide and three feet tall, one of the biggest nests on the island.

When we arrived on the Vineyard in March of 2020, the nest was empty. The birds were still warming themselves in the southern hemisphere, perhaps beginning their pilgrimage back to the island, making their way over the Caribbean Sea and Florida, continuing north, hugging the coastline, as a virus, first found in China, made its own explosive journey through the United States. My husband and I walked around the pole in our wool hats and parkas, our boots sinking in the marsh. The nest was intact, unchanged from the previous fall. Even in the bitter air, even with sharp sticks poking out of every side, it looked strong and stable. Welcoming. We smiled at each other and talked about the couple’s return. Would we be here to see it?

After the pandemic shuttered New York City, where we lived most of the year, we decided to quarantine on Martha’s Vineyard with our two youngest children, then fifteen and twelve. It made sense to move to the Vineyard; our house there was isolated and it was our favorite place in the world. The hedge fund where James worked had gone remote, and my legal work could be done from anywhere.

We arrived on March 15. The island was still firmly in winter, with temperatures in the thirties, the trees barren and the light flat. An icy wind whipped around us as we unloaded the car, unpacking sweaters and boots, the girls’ textbooks and cellos, one larger than the other. James set up his home office on a card table in the living room, rising at 4 a.m. to worry over the markets. He cut three different kinds of wood and built gorgeous fires in the late afternoon. He made me whiskey sours as the sun set (we believed reports that whiskey would kill the virus) and locked every door of the house at night, even though the island’s population was sparse and, like New York, in lockdown. He seemed proud of his role as father and husband, nurturing us, protecting us.

I went for walks, tried to keep up with house cleaning and laundry, and watched the news throughout the day. There were images of overflowing emergency rooms, hospital tents in Central Park, refrigerated trucks filled with corpses. More than 20,000 people had died in New York City. There was no vaccine, and no timeline for one. Even in our isolation, even with our privilege, I was afraid.

I often sought out James in the woods. Out of our daughters’ earshot, we would talk about the latest pandemic news, whether we should wear masks or gloves to the grocery store, if we needed to isolate grocery bags and packages before we unpacked them. James would kiss the top of my head as I hugged him, gripping the back of his sweater.

Our younger daughter, Carrie, discovered Fortnite and played remote games with her friends in our guest bedroom, her small body dwarfed by a giant armchair. Our older daughter, Evie, wanted to learn to make fresh pasta. She started with gnocchi and served it for dinner on March 21, the first night of spring. James made a roast chicken to accompany Evie’s dish, using our outdoor grill as an oven, standing on our deck in the dark, adjusting the knobs, making sure the temperature stayed at four hundred degrees. It came out perfectly: moist and golden brown.

We ate at our rectangular wooden table in the kitchen. I wore pajamas with a thick wool sweater and socks, my hair still wet from the shower, piled into a bun on the top of my head. The wind howled as we ate. James seemed distracted and kept eating the gnocchi directly from the bowl rather than serving himself, a pet peeve of mine. He removed the oyster from the chicken, the piece he’d taught the kids to covet, and gave it to Carrie.

I FaceTimed our son, Finn, who was staying with his friend’s family on Long Island, joining a group of teenagers. At seventeen, we knew he would be happier with his friends, and we thought his time away from us would be limited, a couple of weeks at most. I held up my phone so we could all see his face. We told him we missed him.

After we finished eating, James left the kitchen to make a work call. The girls went to the living room to watch television. Alone, I soaked the pans, loaded the dishwasher, wiped down the table. As I was filling a bucket with water and white vinegar to mop the floor, my cell phone rang, glowing and vibrating on the kitchen island. I didn’t recognize the number, so I let it go to voicemail. When my phone pinged to register the message, I put down the bucket and pressed play. It was a man’s voice. He sounded young and nervous.

He said, “I’m trying to reach Belle.” He paused. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your husband is having an affair with my wife.” He gave his name and number.

I froze, feeling dizzy. The words didn’t make sense. I gripped my phone and pressed the play arrow again, listening to the man’s soft voice for the second time. I thought, This can’t be true. This must be a mistake. James will explain this.

I leaned the mop against the island and went to find him, descending our stairs just as he ascended them. He was coming to find me. He looked anxious, worried.

He put his hand on the small of my back and guided me into the guest bedroom, the room set up with Fortnite, with empty packets of Cheddar Bunnies on the rug. He sat down on the couch. I sat in a chair to his right. There was a long pause, as if he was collecting his thoughts, searching for the right words to say to make this go away. I thought he would do that—he would make it go away. I waited.

He took both my hands, leaned forward, and looked me straight in the eye. He said, “I promise you, this meant nothing. It’s over. I love you and only you. I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed.”

I asked, “How long has it been going on?”

He answered, “Only a few weeks.”

I looked down at his hands, at my body, and felt ashamed of my matronly pajamas and my socks, an oil stain from dinner on the thin cotton of my pajama pants.

His platinum wedding band, on his ring finger, looked scuffed from years of wear. My fingers, underneath his, were bare. I had taken off my rings, including my diamond wedding band, the day before. A friend had told me that the virus could hide under rings, evading Purell and soap, so I had pulled them off, dropping them in a jar of jewelry cleaner. For a split second I thought, Did taking off my wedding ring cause this? Did I shake something loose in the universe?

“What is her name?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.

“I’m going to call her husband back, so you might as well tell me.”

He said the name. It was generic and, like my maiden name, alliterative; it sounded sweet.

“Where did you meet her?” I asked.

He said she was a banker. They’d met through work. He said, “We had this attraction.”

He pulled his hands from mine and held them up to demonstrate the force pulling them together, his hands cupped, fingers spread, like he was holding a basketball. “But, I swear, it didn’t mean anything.”

“Does she have children?” I asked.

He nodded and said, “She has two kids.”\"},{\"id\":\"116312862T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"\\\"Reads like a love story and a horror story and, in one nail-biting section, like a financial thriller.\\\"-The New York Times (Editors' Choice)

\\\"Strangers: A Memoir of Marriage, is a beautifully written eulogy for the loss of a relationship that had been loving, trusting, 'traditional' (in the best, unironic sense of the word)-riveting reading for its heartrending candor. Belle Burden examines the very nature of intimacy, vulnerability, and, in practical terms, the naïveté of many a young woman who falls in love with a 'perfect' mate.'\\\"-Joyce Carol Oates, New York Times bestselling author of Fox

\\\"Examines how we view intimacy, how the people closest to us can change without us knowing, and how to move forward in the wake of devastation.\\\"-W magazine

\\\"This is a beautiful memoir: Hard-won, incandescently honest, and ultimately affirming.\\\"-Elise Loehnen, New York Times bestselling author of On Our Best Behavior

\\\"A beautifully written instant classic. Strangers is gripping and heartbreaking and a must-read for every wife-and husband.\\\"-Graydon Carter, New York Times bestselling author of When the Going Was Good

\\\"In this frank, moving memoir, Burden brings readers along as she grapples with unfathomable change in and outside of her family, and pulls off the impressive trick of writing about writing herself back to wellness.\\\"-Town & Country

\\\"In Strangers, Belle Burden writes with piercing honesty about what happens when the life you trusted vanishes overnight-and the deeper reckoning that follows when the story you've lived no longer holds. With astounding compassion, she asks us to examine life's most perplexing questions alongside her: Can we see the invisible fault lines in a marriage or truly know the people closest to us? This is an unforgettable story not just of heartbreak, but of self-recognition-of the quiet courage of learning to live in your own truth.\\\"-Lori Gottlieb, New York Times bestselling author of Maybe You Should Talk to Someone

\\\"A lyrical and gripping tale of the abrupt end of a seemingly solid and loving marriage. I read Strangers in one weekend. Beyond Burden's beautiful writing and shocking story, it is a call to feminism. She reminds us: Don't fall asleep at the wheel, be self-sustaining, stake a claim in what's yours. Strangers is a woman's graceful awakening-and one to learn from.\\\"-Isabel Gillies, New York Times bestselling author of Happens Every Day

\\\"Heartbreaking and hopeful. So honest . . . but also exquisitely fair. A real story of resilience.\\\"-George Stephanopoulos on Good Morning America

\\\"Burden's journey speaks to anyone broken by the unimaginable and courageous enough to forge a new beginning.\\\"-Adrienne Brodeur, New York Times bestselling author of Wild Game

\\\"In reclaiming her voice and story, Burden refuses to keep the silence and make the excuses as implicitly expected by society . . . and she remains charitable and gracious even when she does not have to be. A measured, empathetic, and modern response to an enraging callousness.\\\"-Kirkus Reviews\"},{\"id\":\"122272223T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

The marriage memoir that took the world by storm. When Belle Burden's husband abruptly admits to having an affair and upends their lives, she looks back on their time together and considers who she could be without him in this empathetic, thoughtful reflection.

\"},{\"id\":\"130799729T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

There can be a fine line between loving and loathing, and Belle Burden examines what went wrong after her husband of twenty years exits her life with no warning.

\"},{\"id\":\"116312863T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Belle Burden holds a BA from Harvard College and a law degree from the New York University School of Law. Her writing has appeared in The New York Times. She lives with her children in New York City.

\"},{\"id\":\"112258827T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Belle Burden holds a BA from Harvard College and a law degree from the New York University School of Law. Her writing has appeared in The New York Times. She lives with her children in New York City.\"},{\"id\":\"122657690T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

Belle Burden is a pro bono immigration attorney specializing in juvenile cases. Her writing has appeared in the New York Times. She lives with her children in New York City.

\"},{\"id\":\"123992052T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"Belle Burden holds a BA from Harvard College and a law degree from the New York University School of Law. Her writing has appeared in The New York Times. She lives with her children in New York City.\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/40878993309937","gid://shopify/Metafield/40878992916721","gid://shopify/Metafield/40878993277169","gid://shopify/Metafield/40878993080561","[{\"contributorId\":32076782,\"fullName\":\"Belle Burden\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",[7253],{"_148":7254,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":-5,"_3716":7255,"_5881":7256,"_5883":7257,"_5885":7258,"_5887":7209,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46272374309105",{"_148":7260,"_144":7261,"_5898":-5,"_3989":6357,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":6668,"_5894":5895},{"_76":7208,"_41":7209},[7259],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/47562783981809","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9780593733318_p0.jpg?v=1771991167",{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6668,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/9482264248561","Whale Harbor: A Novel","9781668224632","GOOD MORNING AMERICA BOOK CLUB PICK From the New York Times bestselling author of the “magnificent” (Fresh Air) Ask Again, Yes, a sweeping multigenerational saga inspired by the author's family history, following eleven brothers as they are set on different paths between Ireland, England, Montana, and New York.1960s, Ireland. In the wake of tragedy, a father makes choices for his eleven grieving sons. The older brothers will emigrate to England for work, while the younger ones will stay behind. The second eldest, Macdara, is offered a job on a Montana cattle ranch and sets off. His spirited younger brother Rian begs to come along and Mac promises to bring Rian to America as soon as he’s old enough. But then one day Mac gets a call that Rian has gone missing. His disappearance will haunt Mac and his family across decades. Spanning lifetimes and continents, Whale Harbor is “tender, immersive, and exquisitely written” (Florence Knapp, author of The Names) with award-winning author Mary Beth Keane’s signature wit, eloquence, and attention to the emotional resonance of family, brotherhood, and the choices that echo across generations.","GOOD MORNING AMERICA BOOK CLUB PICK

From the New York Times bestselling author of the “magnificent” (Fresh Air) Ask Again, Yes, a sweeping multigenerational saga inspired by the author's family history, following eleven brothers as they are set on different paths between Ireland, England, Montana, and New York.

1960s, Ireland. In the wake of tragedy, a father makes choices for his eleven grieving sons. The older brothers will emigrate to England for work, while the younger ones will stay behind. The second eldest, Macdara, is offered a job on a Montana cattle ranch and sets off. His spirited younger brother Rian begs to come along and Mac promises to bring Rian to America as soon as he’s old enough. But then one day Mac gets a call that Rian has gone missing. His disappearance will haunt Mac and his family across decades.

Spanning lifetimes and continents, Whale Harbor is “tender, immersive, and exquisitely written” (Florence Knapp, author of The Names) with award-winning author Mary Beth Keane’s signature wit, eloquence, and attention to the emotional resonance of family, brotherhood, and the choices that echo across generations.",{"_148":7318,"_144":7319,"_3989":7320,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":7323},{"_5902":7321,"_5904":7322},{"_5873":7309},{"_5838":7296},{"_5838":7267},{"_5838":5797},[7278,-5,-5,7279,7280,-5,7281,7282,7283,7284,7285,-5,7286,7287,-5,7288,7289,7290],{"_148":7307,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":7308},{"_148":7306,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":7305,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":7304,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":7302,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":7303},{"_148":7300,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":7301},{"_148":7298,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":7299},{"_148":7297,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":7295,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":7296},{"_148":7294,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":7267},{"_148":7293,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":7292,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":6450},{"_148":7291,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":3792},"gid://shopify/Metafield/191626283679985","gid://shopify/Metafield/196223757156593","gid://shopify/Metafield/76759763386609","gid://shopify/Metafield/76759762469105","gid://shopify/Metafield/76797264953585","[\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/76759763288305","gid://shopify/Metafield/76759762960625","1149510265","gid://shopify/Metafield/76759763615985","Whale-Harbor/Mary-Beth-Keane","gid://shopify/Metafield/76759799726321","[{\"id\":\"134542756T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Chapter One ONE
“Macdara,” came a whisper, hot breath near Mac’s ear. “Dúisigh!”

It was morning. A bell in the distance. Mac’s body felt stiff, and he could tell by the light that it was later than he usually slept. Rian’s spot under the blanket was cold so he must have been up for a while. Prowling, no doubt. Exploring. Blackguarding, if such a thing was possible on the top of a mountain. If anyone could find trouble, Rian could. Down at the shore the tide would have pushed great knots of seaweed onto the beach and Mac and Rian’s brothers would have been sent to collect it. It was mid-May already. Fair Day was coming up soon and if Mac could figure a way there he’d have a great time, but his bicycle had been broken for weeks.

“Say it in English,” Mac mumbled to his younger brother. He didn’t want to move just yet—he needed a moment—but in those seconds he could feel the heat of Rian’s breath near his face again.

“Dúisigh,” Rian repeated as he shook his brother’s shoulder. It was just the two of them up in the booley house where their mother had slept during summers when she was a girl, back when cattle were driven into the mountains for the seasonal burst of grass. The booley had been neglected for a generation because no one kept more than a few head of cattle anymore, at least not in the Cuan where they were locked between mountains and sea and the only crop that appeared from the soil in abundance were stones. But as a young girl, their mother had stayed up in the booley for a few weeks each summer along with her mother, and her aunts, and all the other womenfolk in other booleys scattered over the mountains because the men couldn’t leave the sea. The small shelter had a packed dirt floor and a ring of stones marking the place to make a fire. The walls were just stands of carefully stacked bog oak built against one of the boulders that made up the landscape of wider Connemara and that Teacher said were all put there by a glacier, somehow. Outside, a battered ash tree gave some protection from the wind.

Rian gave up on Mac and stepped outside. Mac could hear him scrambling in the brush.

“Tar anseo!” he called eventually.

“English!” Mac called back.

RIAN WAS A TERRIBLE STUDENT, and English was his worst subject. It was puzzling to their mother because Rian was bright and tended to understand things quite quickly once they were explained to him. It was only that he couldn’t sit still. Last month, after a message sent home went unanswered (because Rian had crumpled the note and tossed it into the sea), Teacher walked all the way through the small village of Cuan an Mhíl Mhóir—everyone called it “the Cuan”—and up the narrow lane to let Cathal and Mary Joyce know that of the several Joyces he’d taught in his ten years as schoolteacher, this one was the worst. Rian talked nonstop, distracting the other children. He fought. He bragged. He was an all-around contrary child. The latest offense was that he refused to speak English when Teacher asked him to, and now the other children were copying him. Teacher stood by their fire while Rian and several of his brothers hid in the back room, mimicking the posh way Teacher had one foot turned out and one hand on his hip. They wondered if that’s how everyone who grew up in the city stood. With Rian leading them, they lifted their noses and repeated to one another every word Teacher said, except in whispers. Rian’s mother excused herself for a moment and chased the boys out the back door with the end of her broom.

Teacher reminded Cathal and Mary of what everyone in the village already knew, which was that if any local child wanted to get work one day he’d have to leave the area, and for that he’d have to know English. At age nine Rian should be in at least second class, if not third, but he was still in senior infants. And he wasn’t even ashamed!

“I don’t know much English myself,” Mary said.

“Why would you?” Cathal said, his tone telling her that if that was an apology there was no need.

“In school he has to at least try,” Teacher said. “I’m not saying he shouldn’t hold on to his own language. I’m only saying he needs to know English as well.”

Cathal crossed his arms and frowned, but Mary promised she’d sort him. She’d put his brother Macdara on the case.

“Now there’s a student,” Teacher said. “I’d have Macdara in school still, if it were up to me. I’d have him—”

“Ach,” Cathal said, waving the words away. He searched his pocket for his pipe.

“Now be telling us about your own little ones,” Mary said as she handed him a generous glass of store whiskey. To Cathal she handed a much smaller glass, and when he looked up at her with a complaint in his eyes she looked right back. She asked after Teacher’s new baby, his wife. Now that his official business was over with, he settled in and gave her all the news.

“And you, Mary?” he asked, somewhat awkwardly. “You’re feeling well? Do you think you’ll get a girl this time?”

Mary laughed. “Another boy. I know it.”

“Eleven sons,” Teacher said. “And King David couldn’t even get one. Do you ever wonder that God hasn’t given you a girl?”

“Oh, believe me,” she said. “I’ll raise the question when I meet him.”

But it was true what Teacher said about Rian needing English, needing to at least try, so after he left, Mary kept her eye on the road to catch Mac before he came inside. When she saw him approaching from the direction of the village she pulled on her shawl and walked out to meet him.

He was lost in his thoughts, she could see. But he was still boyish enough to blush when he was happy and when he saw her—unexpected at that time of day that she wouldn’t be standing at the stove—his cheeks flushed. She fell into step beside him and noted how tall he was now, how she needed a step and a half to match each of his.

“Are you missing your brother very much, Macdara?” she asked, surprising herself. It wasn’t what she’d intended to talk to him about, but it struck her as she saw him walking alone that a year earlier he would have been walking with Sean. The pair of them went everywhere together, but now Sean was in England, working. Mac, who was second eldest, would be next to go.

“I do miss him I suppose,” he said. “Don’t tell him.”

“Never.”

She described the teacher’s visit and asked him to practice English with Rian. “Lead him to it bit by bit,” she said. Of all his brothers, Rian admired Mac most. If there was anyone who could talk this stubborn child into learning, it was him.

“It’s only that he feels afraid,” she said.

“Afraid of what?” Mac asked.

“Of the feeling it gives him, learning English, knowing that the reason he has to learn is because he’ll leave one day.”

“Did he say that?”

“No,” Mary said. “But that’s what it is.”

Once again Mac marveled that his mother had a deep understanding of every possible feeling, even when the person himself might not know he was feeling it.

NOW, STANDING OUTSIDE THE BOOLEY house, Rian tilted his head back, cupped his hand around his mouth, and shouted “DÚISIGH!” as loud as he could. His voice echoed across the valley and rolled toward the sea.

“Did you hear that, Mac?” Rian asked, delighted. He shouted again, and again his voice echoed. “Do you think they heard that all the way at the schoolhouse?”

“Paul Evans is an ugly gowl!” Rian shouted before Mac could answer, and the words rolled down the mountain. Paul Evans was Teacher’s name. “Paul Evans wears his mammy’s knickers!”

Mac couldn’t help it, he laughed. Rian must have heard because he poked his head in and asked, “Are you up at last? Come see something.”

THERE WAS A STORY THEIR mother often told: Once, when the women were up on the mountain, an old hag appeared at the door. She was looking for food and shelter from the rain. It was strange that an old woman who was unknown to any of them should happen to be passing so far up the mountain, and they only had enough for themselves, but they gave her the best spot by the fire to dry off and something to keep her going on her journey. They were worried about her, being a great age and the mountain a rough place, but as soon as she ate and rested, she transformed into a hare and ran away.

“Is that true?” Mac asked very seriously the first time Mary told him the story. “Did you see her turn into a hare?” He was small at the time, alone at the killing stump with her as she held the tail of a cadóg in her left hand and with her right ran her knife down its back to remove the scales. It was a rare thing to be alone with his mother and that may be why for his whole life he remembered it. There was no doubt a baby in the cradle or in her belly or both but he couldn’t remember which one.

It happened before she was born, Mary admitted, but it was always talked about, and everyone knew that what might not seem possible in the village was certainly possible on the mountain. She wouldn’t dare doubt it and she warned Mac that he shouldn’t, either—only the most arrogant sort of person presumes to know the secrets nature holds. What would have become of them, she often wondered, had the women not given the crone a bit of bread, had they not given her a place by the fire. Mac shivered and wondered the same.

Mac and Rian were up the mountain this morning because Rian had gotten into a fight with a classmate, who, like Rian, was nine years old, and also from a family of brothers—except the Sullivans were all boxers. Mac asked what they fought over, but Rian wouldn’t say. Rian once fought over a spoon. Over whether it was raining outside or only spitting. Over whether a mule was smarter than a donkey. Someone once found a broken chain on the road, good for absolutely nothing, but Rian bloodied another boy’s nose to have it. This particular fight, Mac learned eventually, was about skimming stones. A group of them had been hanging around by the water when skimming stones turned into a contest and Rian claimed he got twelve hops. One of the Sullivan boys said it was only nine. They agreed to each have another go, the boy with the most hops would be the winner, and Rian lost. Then it turned into a fistfight, like all contests did, and Rian lost that, too, as anyone who took in the sizes of the two boys would have predicted. But at the moment of peak humiliation, with every student looking on, Rian said at least he had the courage to spend a night up the mountain by himself. It was rumored that this Sullivan boy still slept at the foot of his mammy’s bed.

“Why?” Macdara asked. “Of all things.”

“Because,” Rian said.

“Because why?”

“Because!” Rian said, growing red in the face with frustration. “Because I don’t have to be bigger than him to sleep up in the booley. I only have to be braver.”

Macdara had spent the day on the island helping his grandfather repair a collapsed well—the kind of careful, peaceful work he liked—and when the tide was finally low enough for him to walk across the rocks to the mainland and then home, he recognized Rian’s crouched form in the distance, waiting for him. He saw the bruise blooming on the side of his brother’s head, and knew he was about to be pestered for something. Rian begged Macdara to come with him up the mountain overnight, and to not tell a living soul.

“Barry will go,” Mac said once he’d heard it all. There were plenty of other brothers to choose from. Barry was fourteen. Macdara was gone sixteen, so this seemed below him. “Or Fearghal. Or both of them.” Fearghal was a year younger than Barry.

“They said they won’t.”

“Thomas then. There’ll be the pair of you in it.” Thomas was only six but seemed older because he was so serious. He had flame-red hair, redder than anyone else’s in the family, the reddest their mother claimed she’d ever seen, and people called him Thomas the Red. In the old days, their mother told them, people thought it was bad luck to see a redhead first thing in the morning, and if Thomas had lived in those days they’d be turning their backs to him as he walked to school.

“He said he’d be too scared,” Rian said to Mac. “There’s síóga up there and everyone knows it.”

Mac looked down at his brother. Vivid yellow furze lined the road on both sides, making a bright, beautiful tunnel leading home.

“You didn’t ask them. None of them.”

“They’ll tell everyone they were up there! I’m supposed to be going alone to prove I’m not scared.”

“But you are scared. You go looking for trouble, I swear.”

“I lost the fight! What could I do?”

Mac looked up at the fog-shrouded mountain and shivered. He wished Sean was still home. He wished he could ask his friend Martin to come along, but Martin was gone too. Mac thought they had a whole year more to discuss plans, but Martin’s brother PJ had come home from America for a visit, and next thing Martin was packed off to Montana with him when he left. The Lees lived up the road from the Joyces and no one from either family ever passed by the other’s house without stopping in with news.

“Macdara,” Rian’s small face twisted with distress. “Please.”

THEY GOT A BIT OF precious attention from their mother when they told her the plan. They didn’t need permission, exactly—their whereabouts had been their own business since the day they could be trusted to wander out of sight of the cottage and find their way back—but she’d worry if they were missing at night, especially with their father not at home. Two weeks earlier, she’d given birth to a new son, and as Rian explained to her that they were spending the night on the mountain, Mac noticed that she was swollen, exhausted. A moment later, when Rian scampered off to gather a few provisions and the baby began to stir, she said to Macdara, “You’re a good boy.” She reached for his dirty hand and brought it to her cheek. She pressed it there for a moment and then let go.

FINALLY, MAC KICKED OFF THE blanket and got up. He stepped outside. There were a dozen black-faced ewes milling around the booley, red marks at their shoulders. The day was blue but had a skinning wind. Rian was gesturing wildly for Mac to hurry, to come look at something. Ignoring him, Mac looked down at the valley below, the route they’d climbed the previous afternoon, and saw that the houses of their small village looked flat and insignificant, like there was no way they could hold all the people, and gossip, and worries that made up their days. He’d been up here many times before, and had looked down at the very same scene, but this time something about seeing home from so far above made his heart squeeze. Everything that was broken and weather-beaten and threadbare up close was mended from such a height, and he felt certain if he stood there long enough he might eventually glimpse himself making his way down the muck-drowned lane. Then he lifted his gaze just slightly and saw so much farther—the mountains, the water studded with small islands. It was astonishing, how beautiful it all was.

Mac looked out to the island where their grandfather lived and where their mother had grown up. It was called Illeaneeragh, but they only ever called it “the island.” Two small hops away from that one was Crow Island, where their father kept his still. No one lived on Crow Island.

“My god, would you ever hurry?” Rian said.

Their father had been mostly on Crow Island since the new baby arrived. After the last big batch of poitín, Macdara had helped him plug and sink the jugs in the bog. A few weeks later Cathal asked him along again to see how it was aging. By the light of the moon Cathal reached under the bog in exactly the right place and raised up the keg just enough to clear the water. He pulled the plug and took a long draft of it through the reed he’d plucked on their way. He offered the reed to Mac, and Mac took a sip, but he could barely even swallow.

Cathal slapped his thighs as he laughed at Mac, who was coughing and trying to rid the taste from his mouth.

By his eleventh child, and his eleventh time pulling this disappearing act, no one took much notice of Cathal’s routine. It was just part of a new baby arriving. He left the island to deliver the post, and that’s when he might pop out of a field near home to say hello to one of his sons or suddenly appear alongside them as they walked to school or Mass or wherever they might be headed. He appeared from behind the grocery one recent afternoon, his wild shock of hair even wilder from the elements. They often spotted him in the distance on his bicycle, his basket heaped to the brim with post and packages, and it took Mac until very recently to understand there were also poitín bottles clinking in the basket under the letters, and Cathal was delivering these as well. He’d take the paper money he got for the poitín and put it in the tin box he kept under the bed he shared with Mary. That’s the box he always went to when he gave something to the women who helped whenever a new baby was born. It was the box he went to when the family had balances to settle up in the Cuan. A new baby was always a time for fresh starts.

At home, Mac slept in the loft with the other oldests: Barry, Fearghal, Noel, and now that Sean was in England, Coleman, who’d been promoted. The next four, called collectively “the babies”—Rian, Thomas, Eamon, and Seamus—slept in the room below. Their parents had their own room and that’s where the new baby slept. Once the baby got too big for his cradle he’d move to the baby room and someone from the baby room would get moved up to the loft and someone from the loft—Mac—would have to go somewhere else.

But where? Sean was working at a railyard in Manchester and living in a rooming house with a dozen other Irishmen from his age all the way up to great ages like fifty and sixty. If he missed home he didn’t mention it in his letters. He only told them things that happened, and nothing about what he thought about those things. All emigrants seemed a little different when they returned home, but the main thing Mac noticed was when those who went to England came back they were never better for it. For all the good news reported in letters—the reliable money and the shops full of anything a person could want—none of it was evident. Billy Coyle was great fun before he left for London but when he came back for a visit he was so quiet. His body had become thin and he hunched his shoulders as if to make himself invisible. Maybe Sean had gotten like that and they didn’t even know.

Mac would prefer to stay in Ireland. But in photographs he’d seen in newspapers, the other parts of Ireland looked different. The people looked different, too: their clothes, their hair. In Connemara, it was said that nourishing grass was so scarce the sheep had to wear eyeglasses to find it. Children didn’t usually wear shoes until they went to school. It was almost impossible to make cattle fat enough for market, and the fisheries were all owned by people who lived in different parts. That Cathal had a government job as postman and that the job allowed him an easy way to sell his other wares on the side was what had kept them there, tied to the Cuan, for longer than so many other families. The problem was that the area only needed one postman, and the man had eleven sons.

Years ago, when their neighbor PJ Lee—Martin’s older brother—struck out for Montana instead of the usual places in America, Teacher took the opportunity to tell them about all the Irish in a Montana city called Butte, nicknamed the richest hill on Earth because of all the copper there. Someone joked in that case Butte would be a great place for the Joyces because they needed copper to make the worm for their still. Teacher ignored the comment but Mac felt his face get hot. A book went around, opened to a photograph of a famous graveyard in Butte, which had a lot of the same names etched onto the stones as they had right there in the Cuan. When Mac held the book he glanced quickly at the names but mostly he looked at the sky, at what little he could glimpse in the backdrop, to decide if it would feel terribly foreign to PJ when he got there.

When Mac arrived home from school that day and reported everything Teacher said about Montana, Cathal said that man knew so much he bet he could milk a duck. When Mac told him that there were a lot of Irish in Butte, Cathal said: “There’s Irish in Dublin, too, but you wouldn’t want to be there.”

AFTER BEING IN AMERICA FOR seven years, PJ returned for a visit, just before the eleventh Joyce baby was due. Macdara and Martin had a plan to take the bus to Galway to see the races, but that would have to be put off because PJ was coming home with an American wife who wasn’t from one of the cities on America’s East Coast—breeds they were familiar with—but a girl whose people had been in Montana for generations. Mac barely remembered PJ, but he was curious. He wrote to Sean to tell him and wished his brother were home to hear some of the stories. More than any other return Mac could remember, everyone in the Cuan wanted to catch a glimpse of PJ and hear about his life. Mary prayed that the baby stay put so she wouldn’t miss any of the fun.

PJ had left Ireland in a ship but to return home in 1963 he flew in an airplane to Shannon Airport. Instead of cramming themselves into the damp Lee cottage, he and his wife stayed in a hotel near Oughterard, a good forty minutes’ drive. They rented a car to get back and forth, and for two weeks Mac watched for that blue Ford and wondered what it would be like to sit inside. PJ let the small children pack in and then he drove them all around as they begged for a chance to turn the steering wheel, but Mac felt too old for that. From the garden, he could spot the car’s roof gliding along the narrow lanes up to the Lees’ place, no doubt the beautiful, gleaming paint etched with scratches from branches. PJ wore cowboy boots and had a belt with a huge silver-plated buckle. All the kids lined up to punch him in the buckle, to see how solid it was, and after each child took a shot PJ beat his chest and shouted “Who’s next?”

The Lees hosted a get-together for the neighbors near the end of PJ’s visit. Despite being heavily pregnant, Mary went up early to help Honnie and her girls. When Mac, Barry, and Fearghal walked up, the first person they encountered was their own three-year-old brother, Eamon, who’d climbed up on a stone wall, gotten his jumper snagged, and couldn’t jump back down.

Inside, chairs were for the elders. Most people leaned against walls or sat on the floor with their knees pulled to their chests. Mac felt like he hadn’t seen Martin in weeks and he had things to tell him. When he glanced around to find his friend he saw that Martin and his younger brother, Peter, were wearing startling white shoes with rubber bottoms. The Lee girls were wearing headbands and sleeveless blouses and when Patricia passed by she smelled of washing soap. Mac could see the gooseflesh on her arms.

“Hello, Patricia,” Mac said and blushed.

“Hello, yourself,” Patricia said.

“I like your—” But he didn’t know the word so he tapped his own head in the place where her headband sat.

“Jenny brought it for me from America,” she said, and then it was her turn to blush. Jenny was the tall woman standing in the corner with the bright blond hair. People said she was the image of Princess Grace and Mac had to admit he could see it.

“What kind of shoes is Martin wearing?”

“They’re tennis shoes.”

“Tennis shoes! They’re very…”

“White,” Patricia said and laughed.

Once, when they were thirteen, Mac asked Patricia if he could kiss her. Martin had robbed one beer and one cigarette for each of them from the stash his father kept in the turf shed. Patricia declined and it had been slightly awkward between them ever since.

Mary and Honnie were cutting cakes and arranging the slices onto plates. Cathal leaned against a wall, twisting his eyebrow and arguing with a neighbor about the pope’s recent announcement of dismay about the world scarcity of priests. Radio Éireann was playing a sponsored program about horses and once in a while the program would pause to play a ballad. The Lee girls made tea for the women and the men sipped whiskey from mugs while PJ’s book of photographs got passed around. There were a few pictures of Chicago, but mostly they were of horses, the frames of buildings and their progress as they were completed, mountains capped with snow. Quite a few were of a long, green car called a Chevrolet Impala, which PJ said he loved almost as much as he loved his girls.

“He has girls?” Mac whispered to Martin. He couldn’t help it. He looked over at Jenny. She didn’t seem like a woman who’d had babies yet.

“Two. My American nieces,” Martin said. “They stayed back in Montana with Jenny’s father.”

Kevin Lee, PJ and Martin’s father, described Montana with complete authority, even though he’d never left the west of Ireland. He told the crowded room that PJ had built a house for himself and his family in a place called Larkspur, named for the flower that was abundant there. Kevin told his neighbors that the sky was much higher in Larkspur. The animals were bigger, too, even the trout fished out of the lakes. Jenny, who was born and raised there, only looked amused.

“Tell them, PJ. Tell them about the seventy-pound trout. Tell them how big.”

The group looked skeptical when Kevin held his hands more than four feet apart to show them. They were interested, but they weren’t stupid. Trout didn’t come that size. PJ spotted Rian and told him to stand up.

“About that size,” PJ said. He told them about being in the audience when John F. Kennedy spoke to a group in Yellowstone County about conserving the land and the forests.

“Did you speak to him?” Mac asked.

PJ laughed. “There were seventeen thousand people in the audience. And I was in the back.”

“He’s coming here, you know,” someone said. “In June. I read it in the paper.”

“To Dublin you mean,” Cathal said.

“To Galway,” the man said. “He’ll speak in Eyre Square.”

Mac glanced over to catch Martin’s eye. That would be an adventure.

When Mac had eaten his cake and seen all the photos, when he figured Patricia would probably not agree to a kiss that night, either, he got up to leave. He had a small job lined up for the morning, odds and ends for the blacksmith, and he wanted to get to bed. He’d give Martin all the news once PJ went back to America and things went back to normal. When he heard steps behind him he assumed it was Rian following, but then he heard his name being called. He turned and found Martin, with Rian right behind him.

“Mac,” Martin said. “I meant to stop down earlier today but my mother needed help with the party.” He glanced down at Rian, who was waiting to hear what he’d say next.

“Did you have cake?” Martin asked Rian. Meaning: be gone with you.

“I did,” Rian said, not moving.

“He’s fine,” Mac said.

“All right. Well, I wanted to tell you—and it all came together very quickly, my head is spinning, actually—but I wanted to make sure you—”

“You’re leaving,” Mac said, and he immediately felt foolish for not predicting it.

“I’m leaving,” Martin confirmed.

“When?”

“I’ll go back with them. It’s a long way and it makes the most sense. PJ bought my ticket yesterday.”

“Huh,” Mac said. He had not been prepared for this and yet he wasn’t surprised. They’d all known from the moment of their births that they’d likely have to leave one day. He just didn’t expect that day to be tomorrow, or for his best friend to go all the way to Montana.

“You know,” Martin said. “PJ says there’s lots of work there. His father-in-law is sponsoring me and I’m sure he’d sponsor you, too, if you wanted to come. I know Sean is in England, but if you had a mind to try Americ—”

“I’m not going anywhere yet. Plenty of time for all that.”

“Is there? Will you not have to go when the new baby comes?”

Mac felt Rian studying him carefully as he said he didn’t know. No one had said anything yet and he was getting work most days. He’d been thinking lately maybe he wouldn’t have to go.

“And it’s all definite?” Mac asked. “It’s very fast, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I’d say they had a notion before PJ even got here. I’m the last to know.”

Mac frowned. That didn’t seem right.

“I don’t mind, honestly. If I have to go somewhere, I’d like to try Montana. I’ll visit though, Mac. You know I will.”

After seven whole years like your brother, Mac thought. The visit after that would be in twelve, then twenty. And when he visited, Mac would likely be in England. Martin said he was sorry to dump the news on him and then go but he had to be getting back. He said he’d stop round the following day to say goodbye.

“We should go too!” Rian said, as soon as Martin was out of earshot. “Did you hear what his father said about the trout?”

“You’re nine years old. You think you’d be good at sawing down trees thicker than a man lying down?”

“I’d be absolutely ferocious at it,” Rian said. “How is it spelled? Larkspur? I’m putting it in my book.”

That night after everyone had finally drifted off to sleep, even their mother, who sometimes sat up in the chair when the birth of a new baby was near, Rian crept to the foot of the sleeping loft’s ladder and whispered, “Macdara, are you awake? Are there grizzly bears in Montana, Macdara?”

But the others roared at him to be quiet, that he’d break their heads with his constant chatter, he should be sent to live with the tinkers, Jesus Christ, even they wouldn’t take him, between the fighting and the constant jabbering, he should simply be abandoned somewhere far away.

In response, Rian let crack an enormous fart and, laughing, dove into his bed.

THE NEXT MORNING, MARTIN CAME down the lane to say goodbye as promised, and Mary shook holy water on his head. The baby was coming; Mac could tell by the way she walked the floors early that morning and took deep breaths.

“Come on,” Martin said, wanting to get beyond so many sets of eyes to say his goodbyes. “Let’s walk into the Cuan.”

Mac hesitated. “My mother—”

“Go,” Mary said. Cathal was pulling at his eyebrow and asking if she was sure he shouldn’t go for the women yet.

Once they got past the holly bush where they normally met up, Martin shoved a handful of coins into Mac’s pocket. “Everyone’s giving me money so take some for the dances.”

“Would you stop,” Mac said, pushing them back at Martin. One coin fell onto the road and Rian, who’d followed Mac, pounced on it. The two older boys laughed, realizing they were acting like old men they’d seen.

“Who will I go to the dances with now?”

“You can’t be serious. You have no shortage of brothers.”

Mac laughed because it was true, but something would change. First Sean, now Martin. Barry and Fearghal were fun but they were only fourteen and thirteen. Since Martin told him, Mac felt a question on the tip of his tongue, but he just didn’t know how to ask it. He wanted to ask his friend if he had any fear of going, fear that he’d not come back, fear that he’d hate it or the people would be strange or anything at all. Fear of being lonely. But Martin would only say no.

“It got put together so fast. I didn’t even have time to get a few odds and ends to bring with me.”

“The shops in America will have everything you need.”

“They will, I suppose,” Martin said. The Sullivans’ dog barked at them and followed them for a while. Martin threw a stone at him to go home and Mac told him not to do that, he might hit the poor creature; the Sullivans weren’t good to it so it was probably only looking for company. Mac stopped to scratch its ears and Martin remembered when they were much smaller boys, how they saved a different one of the Sullivans’ dogs from falling through the blowhole near the cliff. Mac would miss his friend. They walked along the lane as far as the football pitch, looped around the farthest goalpost, and then headed home.

“Martin!” Rian said, catching up to them. “I just thought of something. Now that you’re out of the picture, does that mean Margaret Carroll is available?”

Martin and Margaret had a little romance going, the extent of which was Martin going over to her house one day to look at the record player her brother had sent their parents from England.

“Excuse me?” Martin asked.

“I mean, can I make my move once you’re gone.”

“She’s fifteen.”

“I know that.”

Martin looked at Mac and shook his head.

“Best of luck to you,” he said to Rian.

THE BABY STARTED COMING AROUND the time PJ’s rented car wound its way down the coast road toward the airport, Martin’s pale face in the back window where he was watching the Cuan retreat. Still, Mary said it wasn’t quite time to call the women. Finally, very early the following morning, Cathal climbed the ladder to the loft, grabbed hold of Mac’s foot to wake him, and told him to run to Honnie’s. The women arrived just after dawn and told the Joyce boys to be gone, to come back in a few hours. Honnie, sad after having said goodbye to two of her sons the day before, brought a sack of buns and told them to eat them down on the beach. It was cold at that hour, frost on the grass, so Mac made up a game where they hopped around like pats of butter on a hot skillet, and after a while his brothers’ cheeks flushed and they grew warm. Seamus, only two, was allowed to stay up in the house with the women, but Eamon cried that he was still cold so Mac took his little feet and put them under his own jumper to warm them against his belly. He taught him how to withdraw his arms from his sleeves and tuck his hands into the pocket of his underarms, where it was always warm. When the morning reached a respectable time to go calling, the older boys ran off to find their friends. Coleman, Rian, Thomas, and Eamon stayed with Macdara.

Just when Mac was thinking he’d have to get them more to eat, they heard a whistle.

“Hup!” Cathal shouted when he got within sight. “A brother!”

His younger brothers around him, Mac observed their father standing on the crest of seagrass, the light behind him, and wondered if he’d wait an hour until the baby settled or if he’d go right away. He’d no doubt taken a mug of whiskey out by the turf shed to wait for news. Last time, when Seamus was born, he’d made Mary a cup of tea, and then while the women were still fussing over her and the baby, he’d slipped out.

As they made their way home, Eamon on Mac’s back, Rian wondered aloud if their mother knew how to get the other kind of baby because who ever heard of eleven boys and no girls? When he looked up at Macdara and saw that he’d made his brother laugh, his face shone with joy.

“Go,” Mac said, setting Eamon down. “All of you. Run. Go on to meet him.” Someone would have to walk out to the island to tell their grandfather.

NOW, THE BABY WAS TWO weeks old and Cathal was still sleeping on Crow Island. From the door of the booley the slope of the mountain became abruptly steeper on the ascent, but it was possible to climb higher by grabbing hold of stones lodged into the earth, or roots that served as steps. “Would you ever hurry,” Rian said, as Mac finally joined him.

“All right now, look,” Rian said, pointing to something in the distance, something on the beach that was a short walk from their cottage and where they gathered seaweed most mornings. From where they stood, the beach was just a slash of yellow breaking up the greens and blues. But there was also a pale obstruction Mac couldn’t identify.

“What’s what?” Rian asked.

Mac squinted and saw there was movement—people gathering. Father Damien’s somber black Oldsmobile looked like a toy as it turned onto the coast road. What was it that was drawing them together? Grayish in color, maybe an enormous boulder had rolled down from somewhere above. He’d never heard of anything like that happening before. Maybe it was one of the Russian trawlers the men were always discussing when they stood outside Gafney’s smoking cigarettes. Sighted off Inisheer and bearing the red flags of the Soviet Union, the Soviets had four trawlers in the area, and two factory ships. The men said their plan was to take all the Irish fish back with them to their country. Their fisheries needed protection, the men said, something must be done.

Maybe one of the trawlers had made a mistake and turned into their small harbor and got stuck.

“Could it be a whale?” Rian asked.

Mac looked again at the outlines of the object, and the stir it caused.

“You know what, Rian? I believe it could.”

Rian, who always had a current of energy running through him, went totally still, serious down to his bones. “I knew it,” he said in a whisper. It was the biggest thing to happen in his life so far.

“If it’s a whale, there’s something wrong with it,” Macdara said.

“We have to see,” Rian said and scrambled back down to the booley to gather their few things.

“Slow down,” Mac shouted after him, but Rian was already running full speed down the mountain, blanket dragging along the ground, his dove-white ankles flashing in the sun.\"},{\"id\":\"123983727T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"“A powerful, multigenerational saga of family.” —Woman's World

“A deeply insightful family saga.” —The Millions

“With all the cadence and lyricism of an Irish ballad, Keane’s prose and dialogue sparkle with lightness, wit, and authenticity. Brimming with emotion, this charming yet psychologically complex family shines with tenderness, care, and loyalty. Keane’s characters express joy, wonder, and genuine love even as they grapple with hardship, grief, and loss.” —Booklist (starred review)

“Keane’s outstanding ability to encompass family feeling in fluid, translucent prose—as she did in Ask Again, Yes—shines once more in this saga of immigration and lifelong emotional bonds. Epic yet intimate, with a long, satisfying afterecho.” —Kirkus (starred review)

“A deeply insightful family saga… Keane evokes each setting beautifully… It’s a revelation.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

“Keane’s big-hearted novel wraps readers in the warm embrace of this multigenerational literary saga.” —Library Journal (starred review)

“Keane's prose deploys a light, luminous touch even as its plot ventures into heartbreaking territory... Keane is an exceptional storyteller... With richly descriptive prose and a deep understanding of ancestral roots, Whale Harbor reminds readers that when it comes to family, there are no neat and tidy endings.” —Shelf Awareness, Maximum Shelf

“Whale Harbor is a very special book, the kind that comes along rarely. It is epic in scope yet, at the same time, so intimate and immersive I could scarcely catch my breath as I read. A meditation on what it means to be a family with all the secret heartaches and disappointments, the losses, and above all, the love that binds them together. Truly magnificent.” —Clare Leslie Hall, author of Broken Country

“I picked up Whale Harbor and couldn't stop reading. The gang of brothers, the father, the daughter, the whole family, Ireland, everything—it's a great story, and beautifully written.” —Roddy Doyle

“Whale Harbor is a sweeping family saga which gets to the heart of the Irish immigrant experience, from Connemara to Montana to New York. Epic in scope and rich in detail, Whale Harbor understands the complex nature of family bonds, and the way that certain places never relinquish their hold on our imaginations.” —Roisín O'Donnell, author of Nesting

“Tender, immersive and exquisitely written, Whale Harbor is the story of a family that seems borne out of both the land and the sea—one that aches with regret and thrums with longing. Mary Beth Keane finds the quiet amongst the bustle of eleven brothers, to pore over their shared mythology and explore the loss, remorse, and fraternal bonds that follow each far into adulthood. I felt I knew the whole cast of characters intimately, as well as the landscapes—the Joyces' Connemara, Montana, and New York will remain etched in my mind. I missed this book whenever I wasn’t reading it. Mary Beth Keane is one of my favorite storytellers and here she’s at her finest. I adored it.” —Florence Knapp, author of The Names

“No one writes about the long arc of family—its loyalties, betrayals, and returns—like Mary Beth Keane. Whale Harbor is an expansive, beautiful novel about how time can reshape love and kinship in ways we'd never anticipate, and a reminder that every family contains a world.” —Kathy Wang, author of The Satisfaction Café

“Whale Harbor is an exquisite family epic. I was completely invested in the fates of all the Joyce brothers. The places and people were so expertly drawn, I felt like I walked beside them the whole way.” —Claire Lynch, author of A Family Matter\"},{\"id\":\"133447038T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

From the acclaimed author of Ask Again, Yes, this sweeping, dramatic family story about the bonds of brotherhood confronts immigration and identity from the shores of Ireland to the mountains of Montana.

\"},{\"id\":\"135575793T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

\"},{\"id\":\"123983728T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Mary Beth Keane is the author of five novels, including the New York Times bestseller Ask Again, Yes. She was awarded a John Simon Guggenheim Fellowship for fiction writing and has received citations from the National Book Foundation, PEN America, and the Hemingway Society. Born in the Bronx to parents from the west of Ireland, she lives in New York with her husband and two sons.

\"},{\"id\":\"135575796T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

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He’s a curmudgeon—the kind of man who points at people he dislikes as if they were burglars caught outside his bedroom window. He has staunch principles, strict routines, and a short fuse. People call him “the bitter neighbor from hell.” But must Ove be bitter just because he doesn’t walk around with a smile plastered to his face all the time? Behind the cranky exterior there is a story and a sadness. So when one November morning a chatty young couple with two chatty young daughters move in next door and accidentally flatten Ove’s mailbox, it is the lead-in to a comical and heartwarming tale of unkempt cats, unexpected friendship, and the ancient art of backing up a U-Haul. All of which will change one cranky old man and a local residents’ association to their very foundations. A feel-good story in the spirit of The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry and Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand, Fredrik Backman’s novel about the angry old man next door is a thoughtful exploration of the profound impact one life has on countless others. “If there was an award for ‘Most Charming Book of the Year,’ this first novel by a Swedish blogger-turned-overnight-sensation would win hands down” (Booklist, starred review).","In this New York Times bestselling “charming debut” (People)—soon to be a major motion picture starring Tom Hanks—from one of Sweden’s most successful authors, a grumpy yet loveable man finds his solitary world turned on its head when a boisterous young family moves in next door.

Meet Ove. He’s a curmudgeon—the kind of man who points at people he dislikes as if they were burglars caught outside his bedroom window. He has staunch principles, strict routines, and a short fuse. People call him “the bitter neighbor from hell.” But must Ove be bitter just because he doesn’t walk around with a smile plastered to his face all the time?

Behind the cranky exterior there is a story and a sadness. So when one November morning a chatty young couple with two chatty young daughters move in next door and accidentally flatten Ove’s mailbox, it is the lead-in to a comical and heartwarming tale of unkempt cats, unexpected friendship, and the ancient art of backing up a U-Haul. All of which will change one cranky old man and a local residents’ association to their very foundations.

A feel-good story in the spirit of The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry and Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand, Fredrik Backman’s novel about the angry old man next door is a thoughtful exploration of the profound impact one life has on countless others. “If there was an award for ‘Most Charming Book of the Year,’ this first novel by a Swedish blogger-turned-overnight-sensation would win hands down” (Booklist, starred review).",{"_148":7421,"_144":7422,"_3989":7423,"_3985":7424,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":7427},{"_5902":7425,"_5904":7426},{"_5873":7412},{"_5838":7399},{"_5838":7369},{"_5838":279},[7380,-5,-5,7381,7382,-5,7383,7384,7385,7386,7387,-5,7388,7389,-5,7390,7391,7392],{"_148":7410,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":7411},{"_148":7409,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":279},{"_148":7408,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":279},{"_148":7407,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":6339},{"_148":7405,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":7406},{"_148":7403,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":7404},{"_148":7401,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":7402},{"_148":7400,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":7398,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":7399},{"_148":7397,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":7369},{"_148":7396,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":7395,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":7142},{"_148":7393,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":7394},"gid://shopify/Metafield/59847562068209","98","gid://shopify/Metafield/59847562100977","gid://shopify/Metafield/39729685266673","gid://shopify/Metafield/39729684316401","gid://shopify/Metafield/39729686020337","[\"Page & Screen (p4180)\",\"Classroom Literature & Nonfiction (p5500)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/39729685168369","gid://shopify/Metafield/39729684807921","1117313627","gid://shopify/Metafield/39729685594353","A-Man-Called-Ove/Fredrik-Backman","gid://shopify/Metafield/39729685889265","[{\"id\":\"119725244T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Chapter 1: A Man Called Ove Buys a Computer That Is Not a Computer 1 A MAN CALLED OVE BUYS A COMPUTER THAT IS NOT A COMPUTER
Ove is fifty-nine.

He drives a Saab. He’s the kind of man who points at people he doesn’t like the look of, as if they were burglars and his forefinger a policeman’s flashlight. He stands at the counter of a shop where owners of Japanese cars come to purchase white cables. Ove eyes the sales assistant for a long time before shaking a medium-sized white box at him.

“So this is one of those O-Pads, is it?” he demands.

The assistant, a young man with a single-digit body mass index, looks ill at ease. He visibly struggles to control his urge to snatch the box out of Ove’s hands.

“Yes, exactly. An iPad. Do you think you could stop shaking it like that…?”

Ove gives the box a skeptical glance, as if it’s a highly dubious sort of box, a box that rides a scooter and wears tracksuit pants and just called Ove “my friend” before offering to sell him a watch.

“I see. So it’s a computer, yes?”

The sales assistant nods. Then hesitates and quickly shakes his head.

“Yes… or, what I mean is, it’s an iPad. Some people call it a ‘tablet’ and others call it a ‘surfing device.’ There are different ways of looking at it.…”

Ove looks at the sales assistant as if he has just spoken backwards, before shaking the box again.

“But is it good, this thing?”

The assistant nods confusedly. “Yes. Or… How do you mean?”

Ove sighs and starts talking slowly, articulating his words as if the only problem here is his adversary’s impaired hearing.

“Is. It. Goooood? Is it a good computer?”

The assistant scratches his chin.

“I mean… yeah… it’s really good… but it depends what sort of computer you want.”

Ove glares at him.

“I want a computer! A normal bloody computer!”

Silence descends over the two men for a short while. The assistant clears his throat.

“Well… it isn’t really a normal computer. Maybe you’d rather have a…”

The assistant stops and seems to be looking for a word that falls within the bounds of comprehension of the man facing him. Then he clears his throat again and says:

“… a laptop?”

Ove shakes his head wildly and leans menacingly over the counter.

“No, I don’t want a ‘laptop.’ I want a computer.”

The assistant nods pedagogically.

“A laptop is a computer.”

Ove, insulted, glares at him and stabs his forefinger at the counter.

“You think I don’t know that!”

Another silence, as if two gunmen have suddenly realized they have forgotten to bring their pistols. Ove looks at the box for a long time, as though he’s waiting for it to make a confession.

“Where does the keyboard pull out?” he mutters eventually.

The sales assistant rubs his palms against the edge of the counter and shifts his weight nervously from foot to foot, as young men employed in retail outlets often do when they begin to understand that something is going to take considerably more time than they had initially hoped.

“Well, this one doesn’t actually have a keyboard.”

Ove does something with his eyebrows. “Ah, of course,” he splutters. “Because you have to buy it as an ‘extra,’ don’t you?”

“No, what I mean is that the computer doesn’t have a separate keyboard. You control everything from the screen.”

Ove shakes his head in disbelief, as if he’s just witnessed the sales assistant walking around the counter and licking the glass-fronted display cabinet.

“But I have to have a keyboard. You do understand that?”

The young man sighs deeply, as if patiently counting to ten.

“Okay. I understand. In that case I don’t think you should go for this computer. I think you should buy something like a MacBook instead.”

“A McBook?” Ove says, far from convinced. “Is that one of those blessed ‘eReaders’ everyone’s talking about?”

“No. A MacBook is a… it’s a… laptop, with a keyboard.”

“Okay!” Ove hisses. He looks around the shop for a moment. “So are they any good, then?”

The sales assistant looks down at the counter in a way that seems to reveal a fiercely yet barely controlled desire to begin clawing his own face. Then he suddenly brightens, flashing an energetic smile.

“You know what? Let me see if my colleague has finished with his customer, so he can come and give you a demonstration.”

Ove checks his watch and grudgingly agrees, reminding the assistant that some people have better things to do than stand around all day waiting. The assistant gives him a quick nod, then disappears and comes back after a few moments with a colleague. The colleague looks very happy, as people do when they have not been working for a sufficient stretch of time as sales assistants.

“Hi, how can I help you?”

Ove drills his police-flashlight finger into the counter.

“I want a computer!”

The colleague no longer looks quite as happy. He gives the first sales assistant an insinuating glance as if to say he’ll pay him back for this.

In the meantime the first sales assistant mutters, “I can’t take anymore, I’m going for lunch.”

“Lunch,” snorts Ove. “That’s the only thing people care about nowadays.”

“I’m sorry?” says the colleague and turns around.

“Lunch!” He sneers, then tosses the box onto the counter and swiftly walks out.\"},{\"id\":\"43868962T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Chapter 1: A Man Called Ove Buys a Computer That Is Not a Computer 1 A MAN CALLED OVE BUYS A COMPUTER THAT IS NOT A COMPUTER
Ove is fifty—nine.

He drives a Saab. He’s the kind of man who points at people he doesn’t like the look of, as if they were burglars and his forefinger a policeman’s flashlight. He stands at the counter of a shop where owners of Japanese cars come to purchase white cables. Ove eyes the sales assistant for a long time before shaking a medium—sized white box at him.

“So this is one of those O—Pads, is it?” he demands.

The assistant, a young man with a single—digit body mass index, looks ill at ease. He visibly struggles to control his urge to snatch the box out of Ove’s hands.

“Yes, exactly. An iPad. Do you think you could stop shaking it like that...?”

Ove gives the box a skeptical glance, as if it’s a highly dubious sort of box, a box that rides a scooter and wears tracksuit pants and just called Ove “my friend” before offering to sell him a watch.

“I see. So it’s a computer, yes?”

The sales assistant nods. Then hesitates and quickly shakes his head.

“Yes... or, what I mean is, it’s an iPad. Some people call it a ‘tablet’ and others call it a ‘surfing device.’ There are different ways of looking at it....”

Ove looks at the sales assistant as if he has just spoken backwards, before shaking the box again.

“But is it good, this thing?”

The assistant nods confusedly. “Yes. Or... How do you mean?”

Ove sighs and starts talking slowly, articulating his words as if the only problem here is his adversary’s impaired hearing.

“Is. It. Goooood? Is it a good computer?”

The assistant scratches his chin.

“I mean... yeah... it’s really good... but it depends what sort of computer you want.”

Ove glares at him.

“I want a computer! A normal bloody computer!”

Silence descends over the two men for a short while. The assistant clears his throat.

“Well... it isn’t really a normal computer. Maybe you’d rather have a...”

The assistant stops and seems to be looking for a word that falls within the bounds of comprehension of the man facing him. Then he clears his throat again and says:

“... a laptop?”

Ove shakes his head wildly and leans menacingly over the counter.

“No, I don’t want a ‘laptop.’ I want a computer.”

The assistant nods pedagogically.

“A laptop is a computer.”

Ove, insulted, glares at him and stabs his forefinger at the counter.

“You think I don’t know that!”

Another silence, as if two gunmen have suddenly realized they have forgotten to bring their pistols. Ove looks at the box for a long time, as though he’s waiting for it to make a confession.

“Where does the keyboard pull out?” he mutters eventually.

The sales assistant rubs his palms against the edge of the counter and shifts his weight nervously from foot to foot, as young men employed in retail outlets often do when they begin to understand that something is going to take considerably more time than they had initially hoped.

“Well, this one doesn’t actually have a keyboard.”

Ove does something with his eyebrows. “Ah, of course,” he splutters. “Because you have to buy it as an ‘extra,’ don’t you?”

“No, what I mean is that the computer doesn’t have a separate keyboard. You control everything from the screen.”

Ove shakes his head in disbelief, as if he’s just witnessed the sales assistant walking around the counter and licking the glass—fronted display cabinet.

“But I have to have a keyboard. You do understand that?”

The young man sighs deeply, as if patiently counting to ten.

“Okay. I understand. In that case I don’t think you should go for this computer. I think you should buy something like a MacBook instead.”

“A McBook?” Ove says, far from convinced. “Is that one of those blessed ‘eReaders’ everyone’s talking about?”

“No. A MacBook is a... it’s a... laptop, with a keyboard.”

“Okay!” Ove hisses. He looks around the shop for a moment. “So are they any good, then?”

The sales assistant looks down at the counter in a way that seems to reveal a fiercely yet barely controlled desire to begin clawing his own face. Then he suddenly brightens, flashing an energetic smile.

“You know what? Let me see if my colleague has finished with his customer, so he can come and give you a demonstration.”

Ove checks his watch and grudgingly agrees, reminding the assistant that some people have better things to do than stand around all day waiting. The assistant gives him a quick nod, then disappears and comes back after a few moments with a colleague. The colleague looks very happy, as people do when they have not been working for a sufficient stretch of time as sales assistants.

“Hi, how can I help you?”

Ove drills his police—flashlight finger into the counter.

“I want a computer!”

The colleague no longer looks quite as happy. He gives the first sales assistant an insinuating glance as if to say he’ll pay him back for this.

In the meantime the first sales assistant mutters, “I can’t take anymore, I’m going for lunch.”

“Lunch,” snorts Ove. “That’s the only thing people care about nowadays.”

“I’m sorry?” says the colleague and turns around.

“Lunch!” He sneers, then tosses the box onto the counter and swiftly walks out.
\"},{\"id\":\"67052405T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"Chapter 1: A Man Called Ove Buys a Computer That Is Not a Computer 1 A MAN CALLED OVE BUYS A COMPUTER THAT IS NOT A COMPUTER
Ove is fifty-nine.

He drives a Saab. He’s the kind of man who points at people he doesn’t like the look of, as if they were burglars and his forefinger a policeman’s flashlight. He stands at the counter of a shop where owners of Japanese cars come to purchase white cables. Ove eyes the sales assistant for a long time before shaking a medium-sized white box at him.

“So this is one of those O-Pads, is it?” he demands.

The assistant, a young man with a single-digit body mass index, looks ill at ease. He visibly struggles to control his urge to snatch the box out of Ove’s hands.

“Yes, exactly. An iPad. Do you think you could stop shaking it like that...?”

Ove gives the box a skeptical glance, as if it’s a highly dubious sort of box, a box that rides a scooter and wears tracksuit pants and just called Ove “my friend” before offering to sell him a watch.

“I see. So it’s a computer, yes?”

The sales assistant nods. Then hesitates and quickly shakes his head.

“Yes... or, what I mean is, it’s an iPad. Some people call it a ‘tablet’ and others call it a ‘surfing device.’ There are different ways of looking at it....”

Ove looks at the sales assistant as if he has just spoken backwards, before shaking the box again.

“But is it good, this thing?”

The assistant nods confusedly. “Yes. Or... How do you mean?”

Ove sighs and starts talking slowly, articulating his words as if the only problem here is his adversary’s impaired hearing.

“Is. It. Goooood? Is it a good computer?”

The assistant scratches his chin.

“I mean... yeah... it’s really good... but it depends what sort of computer you want.”

Ove glares at him.

“I want a computer! A normal bloody computer!”

Silence descends over the two men for a short while. The assistant clears his throat.

“Well... it isn’t really a normal computer. Maybe you’d rather have a...”

The assistant stops and seems to be looking for a word that falls within the bounds of comprehension of the man facing him. Then he clears his throat again and says:

“... a laptop?”

Ove shakes his head wildly and leans menacingly over the counter.

“No, I don’t want a ‘laptop.’ I want a computer.”

The assistant nods pedagogically.

“A laptop is a computer.”

Ove, insulted, glares at him and stabs his forefinger at the counter.

“You think I don’t know that!”

Another silence, as if two gunmen have suddenly realized they have forgotten to bring their pistols. Ove looks at the box for a long time, as though he’s waiting for it to make a confession.

“Where does the keyboard pull out?” he mutters eventually.

The sales assistant rubs his palms against the edge of the counter and shifts his weight nervously from foot to foot, as young men employed in retail outlets often do when they begin to understand that something is going to take considerably more time than they had initially hoped.

“Well, this one doesn’t actually have a keyboard.”

Ove does something with his eyebrows. “Ah, of course,” he splutters. “Because you have to buy it as an ‘extra,’ don’t you?”

“No, what I mean is that the computer doesn’t have a separate keyboard. You control everything from the screen.”

Ove shakes his head in disbelief, as if he’s just witnessed the sales assistant walking around the counter and licking the glass-fronted display cabinet.

“But I have to have a keyboard. You do understand that?”

The young man sighs deeply, as if patiently counting to ten.

“Okay. I understand. In that case I don’t think you should go for this computer. I think you should buy something like a MacBook instead.”

“A McBook?” Ove says, far from convinced. “Is that one of those blessed ‘eReaders’ everyone’s talking about?”

“No. A MacBook is a... it’s a... laptop, with a keyboard.”

“Okay!” Ove hisses. He looks around the shop for a moment. “So are they any good, then?”

The sales assistant looks down at the counter in a way that seems to reveal a fiercely yet barely controlled desire to begin clawing his own face. Then he suddenly brightens, flashing an energetic smile.

“You know what? Let me see if my colleague has finished with his customer, so he can come and give you a demonstration.”

Ove checks his watch and grudgingly agrees, reminding the assistant that some people have better things to do than stand around all day waiting. The assistant gives him a quick nod, then disappears and comes back after a few moments with a colleague. The colleague looks very happy, as people do when they have not been working for a sufficient stretch of time as sales assistants.

“Hi, how can I help you?”

Ove drills his police-flashlight finger into the counter.

“I want a computer!”

The colleague no longer looks quite as happy. He gives the first sales assistant an insinuating glance as if to say he’ll pay him back for this.

In the meantime the first sales assistant mutters, “I can’t take anymore, I’m going for lunch.”

“Lunch,” snorts Ove. “That’s the only thing people care about nowadays.”

“I’m sorry?” says the colleague and turns around.

“Lunch!” He sneers, then tosses the box onto the counter and swiftly walks out.
\"},{\"id\":\"85599084T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"Chapter 1: A Man Called Ove Buys a Computer That Is Not a Computer 1 A MAN CALLED OVE BUYS A COMPUTER THAT IS NOT A COMPUTER
Ove is fifty-nine.

He drives a Saab. He’s the kind of man who points at people he doesn’t like the look of, as if they were burglars and his forefinger a policeman’s flashlight. He stands at the counter of a shop where owners of Japanese cars come to purchase white cables. Ove eyes the sales assistant for a long time before shaking a medium-sized white box at him.

“So this is one of those O-Pads, is it?” he demands.

The assistant, a young man with a single-digit body mass index, looks ill at ease. He visibly struggles to control his urge to snatch the box out of Ove’s hands.

“Yes, exactly. An iPad. Do you think you could stop shaking it like that...?”

Ove gives the box a skeptical glance, as if it’s a highly dubious sort of box, a box that rides a scooter and wears tracksuit pants and just called Ove “my friend” before offering to sell him a watch.

“I see. So it’s a computer, yes?”

The sales assistant nods. Then hesitates and quickly shakes his head.

“Yes... or, what I mean is, it’s an iPad. Some people call it a ‘tablet’ and others call it a ‘surfing device.’ There are different ways of looking at it....”

Ove looks at the sales assistant as if he has just spoken backwards, before shaking the box again.

“But is it good, this thing?”

The assistant nods confusedly. “Yes. Or... How do you mean?”

Ove sighs and starts talking slowly, articulating his words as if the only problem here is his adversary’s impaired hearing.

“Is. It. Goooood? Is it a good computer?”

The assistant scratches his chin.

“I mean... yeah... it’s really good... but it depends what sort of computer you want.”

Ove glares at him.

“I want a computer! A normal bloody computer!”

Silence descends over the two men for a short while. The assistant clears his throat.

“Well... it isn’t really a normal computer. Maybe you’d rather have a...”

The assistant stops and seems to be looking for a word that falls within the bounds of comprehension of the man facing him. Then he clears his throat again and says:

“... a laptop?”

Ove shakes his head wildly and leans menacingly over the counter.

“No, I don’t want a ‘laptop.’ I want a computer.”

The assistant nods pedagogically.

“A laptop is a computer.”

Ove, insulted, glares at him and stabs his forefinger at the counter.

“You think I don’t know that!”

Another silence, as if two gunmen have suddenly realized they have forgotten to bring their pistols. Ove looks at the box for a long time, as though he’s waiting for it to make a confession.

“Where does the keyboard pull out?” he mutters eventually.

The sales assistant rubs his palms against the edge of the counter and shifts his weight nervously from foot to foot, as young men employed in retail outlets often do when they begin to understand that something is going to take considerably more time than they had initially hoped.

“Well, this one doesn’t actually have a keyboard.”

Ove does something with his eyebrows. “Ah, of course,” he splutters. “Because you have to buy it as an ‘extra,’ don’t you?”

“No, what I mean is that the computer doesn’t have a separate keyboard. You control everything from the screen.”

Ove shakes his head in disbelief, as if he’s just witnessed the sales assistant walking around the counter and licking the glass-fronted display cabinet.

“But I have to have a keyboard. You do understand that?”

The young man sighs deeply, as if patiently counting to ten.

“Okay. I understand. In that case I don’t think you should go for this computer. I think you should buy something like a MacBook instead.”

“A McBook?” Ove says, far from convinced. “Is that one of those blessed ‘eReaders’ everyone’s talking about?”

“No. A MacBook is a... it’s a... laptop, with a keyboard.”

“Okay!” Ove hisses. He looks around the shop for a moment. “So are they any good, then?”

The sales assistant looks down at the counter in a way that seems to reveal a fiercely yet barely controlled desire to begin clawing his own face. Then he suddenly brightens, flashing an energetic smile.

“You know what? Let me see if my colleague has finished with his customer, so he can come and give you a demonstration.”

Ove checks his watch and grudgingly agrees, reminding the assistant that some people have better things to do than stand around all day waiting. The assistant gives him a quick nod, then disappears and comes back after a few moments with a colleague. The colleague looks very happy, as people do when they have not been working for a sufficient stretch of time as sales assistants.

“Hi, how can I help you?”

Ove drills his police-flashlight finger into the counter.

“I want a computer!”

The colleague no longer looks quite as happy. He gives the first sales assistant an insinuating glance as if to say he’ll pay him back for this.

In the meantime the first sales assistant mutters, “I can’t take anymore, I’m going for lunch.”

“Lunch,” snorts Ove. “That’s the only thing people care about nowadays.”

“I’m sorry?” says the colleague and turns around.

“Lunch!” He sneers, then tosses the box onto the counter and swiftly walks out.
\"},{\"id\":\"82679313T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"5\",\"text\":\"

A Man Called Ove

A MAN CALLED OVE BUYS A COMPUTER THAT IS NOT A COMPUTER

Ove is fifty-nine.

He drives a Saab. He’s the kind of man who points at people he doesn’t like the look of, as if they were burglars and his forefinger a policeman’s flashlight. He stands at the counter of a shop where owners of Japanese cars come to purchase white cables. Ove eyes the sales assistant for a long time before shaking a medium-sized white box at him.

“So this is one of those O-Pads, is it?” he demands.

The assistant, a young man with a single-digit body mass index, looks ill at ease. He visibly struggles to control his urge to snatch the box out of Ove’s hands.

“Yes, exactly. An iPad. Do you think you could stop shaking it like that . . . ?”

Ove gives the box a skeptical glance, as if it’s a highly dubious sort of box, a box that rides a scooter and wears tracksuit pants and just called Ove “my friend” before offering to sell him a watch.

“I see. So it’s a computer, yes?”

The sales assistant nods. Then hesitates and quickly shakes his head.

“Yes . . . or, what I mean is, it’s an iPad. Some people call it a ‘tablet’ and others call it a ‘surfing device.’ There are different ways of looking at it. . . .”

Ove looks at the sales assistant as if he has just spoken backwards, before shaking the box again.

“But is it good, this thing?”

The assistant nods confusedly. “Yes. Or . . . How do you mean?”

Ove sighs and starts talking slowly, articulating his words as if the only problem here is his adversary’s impaired hearing.

“Is. It. Goooood? Is it a good computer?”

The assistant scratches his chin.

“I mean . . . yeah . . . it’s really good . . . but it depends what sort of computer you want.”

Ove glares at him.

“I want a computer! A normal bloody computer!”

Silence descends over the two men for a short while. The assistant clears his throat.

“Well . . . it isn’t really a normal computer. Maybe you’d rather have a . . .”

The assistant stops and seems to be looking for a word that falls within the bounds of comprehension of the man facing him. Then he clears his throat again and says:

“. . . a laptop?”

Ove shakes his head wildly and leans menacingly over the counter.

“No, I don’t want a ‘laptop.’ I want a computer.”

The assistant nods pedagogically.

“A laptop is a computer.”

Ove, insulted, glares at him and stabs his forefinger at the counter.

“You think I don’t know that!”

Another silence, as if two gunmen have suddenly realized they have forgotten to bring their pistols. Ove looks at the box for a long time, as though he’s waiting for it to make a confession.

“Where does the keyboard pull out?” he mutters eventually.

The sales assistant rubs his palms against the edge of the counter and shifts his weight nervously from foot to foot, as young men employed in retail outlets often do when they begin to understand that something is going to take considerably more time than they had initially hoped.

“Well, this one doesn’t actually have a keyboard.”

Ove does something with his eyebrows. “Ah, of course,” he splutters. “Because you have to buy it as an ‘extra,’ don’t you?”

“No, what I mean is that the computer doesn’t have a separate keyboard. You control everything from the screen.”

Ove shakes his head in disbelief, as if he’s just witnessed the sales assistant walking around the counter and licking the glass-fronted display cabinet.

“But I have to have a keyboard. You do understand that?”

The young man sighs deeply, as if patiently counting to ten.

“Okay. I understand. In that case I don’t think you should go for this computer. I think you should buy something like a MacBook instead.”

“A McBook?” Ove says, far from convinced. “Is that one of those blessed ‘eReaders’ everyone’s talking about?”

“No. A MacBook is a . . . it’s a . . . laptop, with a keyboard.”

“Okay!” Ove hisses. He looks around the shop for a moment. “So are they any good, then?”

The sales assistant looks down at the counter in a way that seems to reveal a fiercely yet barely controlled desire to begin clawing his own face. Then he suddenly brightens, flashing an energetic smile.

“You know what? Let me see if my colleague has finished with his customer, so he can come and give you a demonstration.”

Ove checks his watch and grudgingly agrees, reminding the assistant that some people have better things to do than stand around all day waiting. The assistant gives him a quick nod, then disappears and comes back after a few moments with a colleague. The colleague looks very happy, as people do when they have not been working for a sufficient stretch of time as sales assistants.

“Hi, how can I help you?”

Ove drills his police-flashlight finger into the counter.

“I want a computer!”

The colleague no longer looks quite as happy. He gives the first sales assistant an insinuating glance as if to say he’ll pay him back for this.

In the meantime the first sales assistant mutters, “I can’t take anymore, I’m going for lunch.”

“Lunch,” snorts Ove. “That’s the only thing people care about nowadays.”

“I’m sorry?” says the colleague and turns around.

“Lunch!” He sneers, then tosses the box onto the counter and swiftly walks out.\"},{\"id\":\"54037465T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"6\",\"text\":\"

A Man Called Ove

A MAN CALLED OVE BUYS A COMPUTER THAT IS NOT A COMPUTER

Ove is fifty-nine.

“So this is one of those O-Pads, is it?” he demands.

The assistant, a young man with a single-digit body mass index, looks ill at ease. He visibly struggles to control his urge to snatch the box out of Ove’s hands.

“Yes, exactly. An iPad. Do you think you could stop shaking it like that . . . ?”

“I see. So it’s a computer, yes?”

The sales assistant nods. Then hesitates and quickly shakes his head.

“Yes . . . or, what I mean is, it’s an iPad. Some people call it a ‘tablet’ and others call it a ‘surfing device.’ There are different ways of looking at it. . . .”

Ove looks at the sales assistant as if he has just spoken backwards, before shaking the box again.

“But is it good, this thing?”

The assistant nods confusedly. “Yes. Or . . . How do you mean?”

Ove sighs and starts talking slowly, articulating his words as if the only problem here is his adversary’s impaired hearing.

“Is. It. Goooood? Is it a good computer?”

The assistant scratches his chin.

“I mean . . . yeah . . . it’s really good . . . but it depends what sort of computer you want.”

Ove glares at him.

“I want a computer! A normal bloody computer!”

Silence descends over the two men for a short while. The assistant clears his throat.

“Well . . . it isn’t really a normal computer. Maybe you’d rather have a . . .”

The assistant stops and seems to be looking for a word that falls within the bounds of comprehension of the man facing him. Then he clears his throat again and says:

“. . . a laptop?”

Ove shakes his head wildly and leans menacingly over the counter.

“No, I don’t want a ‘laptop.’ I want a computer.”

The assistant nods pedagogically.

“A laptop is a computer.”

Ove, insulted, glares at him and stabs his forefinger at the counter.

“You think I don’t know that!”

Another silence, as if two gunmen have suddenly realized they have forgotten to bring their pistols. Ove looks at the box for a long time, as though he’s waiting for it to make a confession.

“Where does the keyboard pull out?” he mutters eventually.

“Well, this one doesn’t actually have a keyboard.”

Ove does something with his eyebrows. “Ah, of course,” he splutters. “Because you have to buy it as an ‘extra,’ don’t you?”

“No, what I mean is that the computer doesn’t have a separate keyboard. You control everything from the screen.”

Ove shakes his head in disbelief, as if he’s just witnessed the sales assistant walking around the counter and licking the glass-fronted display cabinet.

“But I have to have a keyboard. You do understand that?”

The young man sighs deeply, as if patiently counting to ten.

“Okay. I understand. In that case I don’t think you should go for this computer. I think you should buy something like a MacBook instead.”

“A McBook?” Ove says, far from convinced. “Is that one of those blessed ‘eReaders’ everyone’s talking about?”

“No. A MacBook is a . . . it’s a . . . laptop, with a keyboard.”

“Okay!” Ove hisses. He looks around the shop for a moment. “So are they any good, then?”

“You know what? Let me see if my colleague has finished with his customer, so he can come and give you a demonstration.”

“Hi, how can I help you?”

Ove drills his police-flashlight finger into the counter.

“I want a computer!”

The colleague no longer looks quite as happy. He gives the first sales assistant an insinuating glance as if to say he’ll pay him back for this.

In the meantime the first sales assistant mutters, “I can’t take anymore, I’m going for lunch.”

“Lunch,” snorts Ove. “That’s the only thing people care about nowadays.”

“I’m sorry?” says the colleague and turns around.

“Lunch!” He sneers, then tosses the box onto the counter and swiftly walks out.\"},{\"id\":\"119882391T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"7\",\"text\":\"Chapter 1: A Man Called Ove Buys a Computer That Is Not a Computer 1 A MAN CALLED OVE BUYS A COMPUTER THAT IS NOT A COMPUTER
Ove is fifty-nine.

He drives a Saab. He’s the kind of man who points at people he doesn’t like the look of, as if they were burglars and his forefinger a policeman’s flashlight. He stands at the counter of a shop where owners of Japanese cars come to purchase white cables. Ove eyes the sales assistant for a long time before shaking a medium-sized white box at him.

“So this is one of those O-Pads, is it?” he demands.

The assistant, a young man with a single-digit body mass index, looks ill at ease. He visibly struggles to control his urge to snatch the box out of Ove’s hands.

“Yes, exactly. An iPad. Do you think you could stop shaking it like that…?”

Ove gives the box a skeptical glance, as if it’s a highly dubious sort of box, a box that rides a scooter and wears tracksuit pants and just called Ove “my friend” before offering to sell him a watch.

“I see. So it’s a computer, yes?”

The sales assistant nods. Then hesitates and quickly shakes his head.

“Yes… or, what I mean is, it’s an iPad. Some people call it a ‘tablet’ and others call it a ‘surfing device.’ There are different ways of looking at it.…”

Ove looks at the sales assistant as if he has just spoken backwards, before shaking the box again.

“But is it good, this thing?”

The assistant nods confusedly. “Yes. Or… How do you mean?”

Ove sighs and starts talking slowly, articulating his words as if the only problem here is his adversary’s impaired hearing.

“Is. It. Goooood? Is it a good computer?”

The assistant scratches his chin.

“I mean… yeah… it’s really good… but it depends what sort of computer you want.”

Ove glares at him.

“I want a computer! A normal bloody computer!”

Silence descends over the two men for a short while. The assistant clears his throat.

“Well… it isn’t really a normal computer. Maybe you’d rather have a…”

The assistant stops and seems to be looking for a word that falls within the bounds of comprehension of the man facing him. Then he clears his throat again and says:

“… a laptop?”

Ove shakes his head wildly and leans menacingly over the counter.

“No, I don’t want a ‘laptop.’ I want a computer.”

The assistant nods pedagogically.

“A laptop is a computer.”

Ove, insulted, glares at him and stabs his forefinger at the counter.

“You think I don’t know that!”

Another silence, as if two gunmen have suddenly realized they have forgotten to bring their pistols. Ove looks at the box for a long time, as though he’s waiting for it to make a confession.

“Where does the keyboard pull out?” he mutters eventually.

The sales assistant rubs his palms against the edge of the counter and shifts his weight nervously from foot to foot, as young men employed in retail outlets often do when they begin to understand that something is going to take considerably more time than they had initially hoped.

“Well, this one doesn’t actually have a keyboard.”

Ove does something with his eyebrows. “Ah, of course,” he splutters. “Because you have to buy it as an ‘extra,’ don’t you?”

“No, what I mean is that the computer doesn’t have a separate keyboard. You control everything from the screen.”

Ove shakes his head in disbelief, as if he’s just witnessed the sales assistant walking around the counter and licking the glass-fronted display cabinet.

“But I have to have a keyboard. You do understand that?”

The young man sighs deeply, as if patiently counting to ten.

“Okay. I understand. In that case I don’t think you should go for this computer. I think you should buy something like a MacBook instead.”

“A McBook?” Ove says, far from convinced. “Is that one of those blessed ‘eReaders’ everyone’s talking about?”

“No. A MacBook is a… it’s a… laptop, with a keyboard.”

“Okay!” Ove hisses. He looks around the shop for a moment. “So are they any good, then?”

The sales assistant looks down at the counter in a way that seems to reveal a fiercely yet barely controlled desire to begin clawing his own face. Then he suddenly brightens, flashing an energetic smile.

“You know what? Let me see if my colleague has finished with his customer, so he can come and give you a demonstration.”

Ove checks his watch and grudgingly agrees, reminding the assistant that some people have better things to do than stand around all day waiting. The assistant gives him a quick nod, then disappears and comes back after a few moments with a colleague. The colleague looks very happy, as people do when they have not been working for a sufficient stretch of time as sales assistants.

“Hi, how can I help you?”

Ove drills his police-flashlight finger into the counter.

“I want a computer!”

The colleague no longer looks quite as happy. He gives the first sales assistant an insinuating glance as if to say he’ll pay him back for this.

In the meantime the first sales assistant mutters, “I can’t take anymore, I’m going for lunch.”

“Lunch,” snorts Ove. “That’s the only thing people care about nowadays.”

“I’m sorry?” says the colleague and turns around.

“Lunch!” He sneers, then tosses the box onto the counter and swiftly walks out.\"},{\"id\":\"132677048T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"\\\"A charming debut...You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll feel new sympathy for the curmudgeons in your life. You'll also want to move to Scandinavia, where everything's cuter.\\\"\"},{\"id\":\"119725245T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"“A charming debut…You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll feel new sympathy for the curmudgeons in your life. You’ll also want to move to Scandinavia, where everything’s cuter.”— People

\\\"A Man Called Ove is exquisite. The lyrical language is the confetti thrown liberally throughout this celebration-of-life story, adding sparkle and color to an already spectacular party. Backman's characters feel so authentic that readers will likely find analogues living in their own neighborhoods.\\\"— Shelf Awareness (starred review)

\\\"Readers seeking feel-good tales with a message will rave about the rantings of this solitary old man with a singular outlook. If there was an award for 'Most Charming Book of the Year,' this first novel by a Swedish blogger-turned-overnight-sensation would win hands down.\\\"— Booklist, Starred Review

“A funny crowd-pleaser that serves up laughs to accompany a thoughtful reflection on loss and love… The author writes with winning charm.”— Publishers Weekly, starred review

“This charming debut novel by Backman should find a ready audience with English-language readers… hysterically funny… wry descriptions, excellent pacing… In the contest of Most Winning Combination, it would be hard to beat grumpy Ove and his hidden,generous heart.”— Kirkus Reviews

\\\"There are characters who amuse us, and stories that touch us. But this character and his story do even more: A Man Called Ove makes us think about who we are and how we want to live our lives. A Man Called Ove seems deceptively simple at the start, yet Frederik Backman packs a lifetime's worth of hilarity and heartbreak into this novel. Even the most crusty curmudgeon will love Ove!\\\"— Lois Leveen, author of Juliet's Nurse and The Secrets of Mary Bowser

“One of the most moving novels I have read this year. I defy anyone to read this book and look at a quiet withdrawn person the same way ever again.”— Cayacosta Reviews

“[T]he revelations about his past are what make the story so endearing. Suffice it to say that along with the characters in the story, who come to discover that Ove is more than just the grumpy old man they first met, the reader is in for an enjoyable ride. A Man Called Ove reminds us that even the most difficult people have a back story that helps explain their current way of interacting- and perhaps, reveals the positive side of those qualities.”— eMissourian.com

\\\"If you have not heard of this author, Fredrik Backman, you are in for a major treat. Major.”— Dunn County News\"},{\"id\":\"85823163T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

A Man Called Ove is a paean to the transformative power of finding friendship where you least expect it and the companionship you thought you never wanted.

\"},{\"id\":\"48432557T\",\"type\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"linkText\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"typeId\":\"1021\",\"abbr\":\"RGG\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"This reading group guide for A Man Called Ove includes an introduction, discussion questions, and ideas for enhancing your book club. The suggested questions are intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles and topics for your discussion. We hope that these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book.

Introduction

Ove is getting older. He’s the kind of man who points at people he dislikes as if they were burglars caught outside his bedroom window. He has staunch principles, strict routines, and a short fuse. People in Ove’s neighborhood call him “the bitter neighbor from hell.” But behind Ove’s cranky exterior lies a story and a sadness. When an accident-prone young couple with two young daughters moves in next door and accidentally flatten Ove’s mailbox one November morning, overturning his well-ordered routine, it is the spark in a surprising, enlivening chain of events—featuring unkempt cats, unexpected friendships, arrogant bureaucrats, several trips to the hospital, and the ancient art of backing up a U-Haul. Swept along in the tide, Ove is forced to change and learn to understand his neighbors and the modern times into which he has been grudgingly dragged. But as his neighbors learn more about the reasons behind Ove’s grumpy façade, they must also band together to protect each other and their neighborhood in a struggle that will leave no one, including Ove, unchanged.

Topics & Questions for Discussion

1. How does the opening scene, in which Ove attempts to purchase a computer, succinctly express the main points of Ove’s ongoing battle with the stupidities of the modern world?

2. Ove loves things that have a purpose, that are useful. How does this worldview fail him when he believes himself to be useless? How is he convinced that he can still be useful?

3. As readers, we get to know Ove slowly, with his past only being revealed piece by piece. What surprised you about Ove’s past? Why do you think the author revealed Ove’s past the way that he did?

4. We all know our own grumpy old men. How do Ove’s core values lead him to appear as such a cranky old coot, when he is in fact nothing of the sort? Which of these values do you agree or disagree with?

5. Although Ove has some major “disagreements” with the way the world turned out, there are some undeniable advantages to the modernization he finds so hollow. How do these advantages improve Ove’s life, even if he can’t admit it?

6. Parveneh’s perspective on life, as radically different from Ove’s as it is, eventually succeeds in breaking Ove out of his shell, even if she can’t change his feelings about Saabs. How does her brash, extroverted attitude manage to somehow be both rude and helpful?

7. Ove strives to be “as little unlike his father as possible.” Although this emulation provides much of the strength that helps Ove persevere through a difficult life, it also has some disadvantages. What are some of the ways that Ove grows into a new way of thinking over the course of the book?

8. Ove is a believer in the value of routine—how can following a routine be both comforting and stultifying? How can we balance routine and spontaneity? Should we? Or is there sense in eating sausage and potatoes your whole life?

9. The truism “it takes a village to raise a child” has some resonance with A Man Called Ove. How does the eclectic cast of posers, suits, deadbeats, and teens each help Ove in their own way?

10. Although we all identify with Ove to some extent, especially by the end of the story, we certainly also have our differences with him. Which of the supporting cast (Parveneh, Jimmy, the Lanky One, Anita) did you find yourself identifying with most?

11. What did you make of Ove’s ongoing battle with the bureaucracies that persist in getting in his way? Is Ove’s true fight with the various ruling bodies, or are they stand-ins, scapegoats, for something else?

12. On page 113, after a younger Ove punches Tom, the author reflects: “A time like that comes for all men, when they choose what sort of men they want to be.” Do you agree with this sentiment, especially in this context? How does the book deal with varying ideas of masculinity?

13. On page 246, the author muses that when people don’t share sorrow, it can drive them apart. Do you agree with this? Why or why not?

14. What do you think of Ove’s relationship with the mangy cat he adopts? What does the cat allow him to express that he couldn’t otherwise say?

15. On Ove and Sonja’s trip to Spain, Ove spends his time helping the locals and fixing things. How does Ove the “hero” compare and contrast to his behavior in the rest of the book? Is that Ove’s true personality?

16. Ove and Sonja’s love story is one of the most affecting, tender parts of the book. What is the key to their romance? Why do they fit so well together?

17. Saab? Volvo? BMW? Scania?

Enhance Your Book Club

1. Grumpy old men like Ove pop up in various forms throughout popular culture. Have a movie night for your group, and screen a film that reminds you of Ove. Perhaps try About Schmidt, As Good as It Gets, Up, or, obviously, Grumpy Old Men. Examine how the characters differ from Ove, or share his grouchy worldview. How did what you watched change the way you thought about the book? Alternatively, screen a movie you think Ove would enjoy, like a Saab commercial.

2. Parveneh and the rest of Ove’s neighbors succeed in breaking Ove out of his shell by encouraging him to reengage with people, and with life. Many of the crotchety oldsters in our lives could use a similar kind of encouragement—reach out to someone you know who could use a little company, either solo or with your group. Discuss your experiences, sharing what you learned from the Ove in your world.

3. Much of the story of Ove’s life remains untold. Imagine a scene from Ove’s life that we didn’t see, and try your hand at writing it out. Short or long, funny or serious, do your best to get into Ove’s head and depict an event that led him to become the lovable pain in the neck that we meet in the book. Share your stories with your group!
\"},{\"id\":\"67053387T\",\"type\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"linkText\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"typeId\":\"1021\",\"abbr\":\"RGG\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"This reading group guide for A Man Called Ove includes an introduction, discussion questions, and ideas for enhancing your book club. The suggested questions are intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles and topics for your discussion. We hope that these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book.

Introduction

Ove is getting older. He’s the kind of man who points at people he dislikes as if they were burglars caught outside his bedroom window. He has staunch principles, strict routines, and a short fuse. People in Ove’s neighborhood call him “the bitter neighbor from hell.” But behind Ove’s cranky exterior lies a story and a sadness. When an accident-prone young couple with two young daughters moves in next door and accidentally flatten Ove’s mailbox one November morning, overturning his well-ordered routine, it is the spark in a surprising, enlivening chain of events—featuring unkempt cats, unexpected friendships, arrogant bureaucrats, several trips to the hospital, and the ancient art of backing up a U-Haul. Swept along in the tide, Ove is forced to change and learn to understand his neighbors and the modern times into which he has been grudgingly dragged. But as his neighbors learn more about the reasons behind Ove’s grumpy façade, they must also band together to protect each other and their neighborhood in a struggle that will leave no one, including Ove, unchanged.

Topics & Questions for Discussion

1. How does the opening scene, in which Ove attempts to purchase a computer, succinctly express the main points of Ove’s ongoing battle with the stupidities of the modern world?

2. Ove loves things that have a purpose, that are useful. How does this worldview fail him when he believes himself to be useless? How is he convinced that he can still be useful?

3. As readers, we get to know Ove slowly, with his past only being revealed piece by piece. What surprised you about Ove’s past? Why do you think the author revealed Ove’s past the way that he did?

4. We all know our own grumpy old men. How do Ove’s core values lead him to appear as such a cranky old coot, when he is in fact nothing of the sort? Which of these values do you agree or disagree with?

5. Although Ove has some major “disagreements” with the way the world turned out, there are some undeniable advantages to the modernization he finds so hollow. How do these advantages improve Ove’s life, even if he can’t admit it?

6. Parveneh’s perspective on life, as radically different from Ove’s as it is, eventually succeeds in breaking Ove out of his shell, even if she can’t change his feelings about Saabs. How does her brash, extroverted attitude manage to somehow be both rude and helpful?

7. Ove strives to be “as little unlike his father as possible.” Although this emulation provides much of the strength that helps Ove persevere through a difficult life, it also has some disadvantages. What are some of the ways that Ove grows into a new way of thinking over the course of the book?

8. Ove is a believer in the value of routine—how can following a routine be both comforting and stultifying? How can we balance routine and spontaneity? Should we? Or is there sense in eating sausage and potatoes your whole life?

9. The truism “it takes a village to raise a child” has some resonance with A Man Called Ove. How does the eclectic cast of posers, suits, deadbeats, and teens each help Ove in their own way?

10. Although we all identify with Ove to some extent, especially by the end of the story, we certainly also have our differences with him. Which of the supporting cast (Parveneh, Jimmy, the Lanky One, Anita) did you find yourself identifying with most?

11. What did you make of Ove’s ongoing battle with the bureaucracies that persist in getting in his way? Is Ove’s true fight with the various ruling bodies, or are they stand-ins, scapegoats, for something else?

12. On page 113, after a younger Ove punches Tom, the author reflects: “A time like that comes for all men, when they choose what sort of men they want to be.” Do you agree with this sentiment, especially in this context? How does the book deal with varying ideas of masculinity?

13. On page 246, the author muses that when people don’t share sorrow, it can drive them apart. Do you agree with this? Why or why not?

14. What do you think of Ove’s relationship with the mangy cat he adopts? What does the cat allow him to express that he couldn’t otherwise say?

15. On Ove and Sonja’s trip to Spain, Ove spends his time helping the locals and fixing things. How does Ove the “hero” compare and contrast to his behavior in the rest of the book? Is that Ove’s true personality?

16. Ove and Sonja’s love story is one of the most affecting, tender parts of the book. What is the key to their romance? Why do they fit so well together?

17. Saab? Volvo? BMW? Scania?

Enhance Your Book Club

1. Grumpy old men like Ove pop up in various forms throughout popular culture. Have a movie night for your group, and screen a film that reminds you of Ove. Perhaps try About Schmidt, As Good as It Gets, Up, or, obviously, Grumpy Old Men. Examine how the characters differ from Ove, or share his grouchy worldview. How did what you watched change the way you thought about the book? Alternatively, screen a movie you think Ove would enjoy, like a Saab commercial.

2. Parveneh and the rest of Ove’s neighbors succeed in breaking Ove out of his shell by encouraging him to reengage with people, and with life. Many of the crotchety oldsters in our lives could use a similar kind of encouragement—reach out to someone you know who could use a little company, either solo or with your group. Discuss your experiences, sharing what you learned from the Ove in your world.

3. Much of the story of Ove’s life remains untold. Imagine a scene from Ove’s life that we didn’t see, and try your hand at writing it out. Short or long, funny or serious, do your best to get into Ove’s head and depict an event that led him to become the lovable pain in the neck that we meet in the book. Share your stories with your group!
\"},{\"id\":\"54037467T\",\"type\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"linkText\":\"Reading Group Guide\",\"typeId\":\"1021\",\"abbr\":\"RGG\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"This reading group guide for A Man Called Ove includes an introduction, discussion questions, and ideas for enhancing your book club. The suggested questions are intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles and topics for your discussion. We hope that these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book.

Introduction

Ove is getting older. He’s the kind of man who points at people he dislikes as if they were burglars caught outside his bedroom window. He has staunch principles, strict routines, and a short fuse. People in Ove’s neighborhood call him “the bitter neighbor from hell.” But behind Ove’s cranky exterior lies a story and a sadness. When an accident-prone young couple with two young daughters moves in next door and accidentally flatten Ove’s mailbox one November morning, overturning his well-ordered routine, it is the spark in a surprising, enlivening chain of events—featuring unkempt cats, unexpected friendships, arrogant bureaucrats, several trips to the hospital, and the ancient art of backing up a U-Haul. Swept along in the tide, Ove is forced to change and learn to understand his neighbors and the modern times into which he has been grudgingly dragged. But as his neighbors learn more about the reasons behind Ove’s grumpy façade, they must also band together to protect each other and their neighborhood in a struggle that will leave no one, including Ove, unchanged.

Topics & Questions for Discussion

1. How does the opening scene, in which Ove attempts to purchase a computer, succinctly express the main points of Ove’s ongoing battle with the stupidities of the modern world?

2. Ove loves things that have a purpose, that are useful. How does this worldview fail him when he believes himself to be useless? How is he convinced that he can still be useful?

3. As readers, we get to know Ove slowly, with his past only being revealed piece by piece. What surprised you about Ove’s past? Why do you think the author revealed Ove’s past the way that he did?

4. We all know our own grumpy old men. How do Ove’s core values lead him to appear as such a cranky old coot, when he is in fact nothing of the sort? Which of these values do you agree or disagree with?

5. Although Ove has some major “disagreements” with the way the world turned out, there are some undeniable advantages to the modernization he finds so hollow. How do these advantages improve Ove’s life, even if he can’t admit it?

6. Parveneh’s perspective on life, as radically different from Ove’s as it is, eventually succeeds in breaking Ove out of his shell, even if she can’t change his feelings about Saabs. How does her brash, extroverted attitude manage to somehow be both rude and helpful?

7. Ove strives to be “as little unlike his father as possible.” Although this emulation provides much of the strength that helps Ove persevere through a difficult life, it also has some disadvantages. What are some of the ways that Ove grows into a new way of thinking over the course of the book?

8. Ove is a believer in the value of routine—how can following a routine be both comforting and stultifying? How can we balance routine and spontaneity? Should we? Or is there sense in eating sausage and potatoes your whole life?

9. The truism “it takes a village to raise a child” has some resonance with A Man Called Ove. How does the eclectic cast of posers, suits, deadbeats, and teens each help Ove in their own way?

10. Although we all identify with Ove to some extent, especially by the end of the story, we certainly also have our differences with him. Which of the supporting cast (Parveneh, Jimmy, the Lanky One, Anita) did you find yourself identifying with most?

11. What did you make of Ove’s ongoing battle with the bureaucracies that persist in getting in his way? Is Ove’s true fight with the various ruling bodies, or are they stand-ins, scapegoats, for something else?

12. On page 113, after a younger Ove punches Tom, the author reflects: “A time like that comes for all men, when they choose what sort of men they want to be.” Do you agree with this sentiment, especially in this context? How does the book deal with varying ideas of masculinity?

13. On page 246, the author muses that when people don’t share sorrow, it can drive them apart. Do you agree with this? Why or why not?

14. What do you think of Ove’s relationship with the mangy cat he adopts? What does the cat allow him to express that he couldn’t otherwise say?

15. On Ove and Sonja’s trip to Spain, Ove spends his time helping the locals and fixing things. How does Ove the “hero” compare and contrast to his behavior in the rest of the book? Is that Ove’s true personality?

16. Ove and Sonja’s love story is one of the most affecting, tender parts of the book. What is the key to their romance? Why do they fit so well together?

17. Saab? Volvo? BMW? Scania?

Enhance Your Book Club

1. Grumpy old men like Ove pop up in various forms throughout popular culture. Have a movie night for your group, and screen a film that reminds you of Ove. Perhaps try About Schmidt, As Good as It Gets, Up, or, obviously, Grumpy Old Men. Examine how the characters differ from Ove, or share his grouchy worldview. How did what you watched change the way you thought about the book? Alternatively, screen a movie you think Ove would enjoy, like a Saab commercial.

2. Parveneh and the rest of Ove’s neighbors succeed in breaking Ove out of his shell by encouraging him to reengage with people, and with life. Many of the crotchety oldsters in our lives could use a similar kind of encouragement—reach out to someone you know who could use a little company, either solo or with your group. Discuss your experiences, sharing what you learned from the Ove in your world.

3. Much of the story of Ove’s life remains untold. Imagine a scene from Ove’s life that we didn’t see, and try your hand at writing it out. Short or long, funny or serious, do your best to get into Ove’s head and depict an event that led him to become the lovable pain in the neck that we meet in the book. Share your stories with your group!
\"},{\"id\":\"40617723T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Fredrik Backman is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of A Man Called Ove, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry, Britt—Marie Was Here, Beartown, Us Against You, Anxious People, The Winners, and My Friends, as well as two novellas and one work of nonfiction. His books are published in more than forty countries. He lives in Stockholm, Sweden, with his wife and two children. Connect with him on Facebook and X @BackmanLand and on Instagram @Backmansk.\"},{\"id\":\"85599093T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Fredrik Backman is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of A Man Called Ove, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry, Britt-Marie Was Here, Beartown, Us Against You, and Anxious People, as well as two novellas and one work of nonfiction. His books are published in more than forty countries. He lives in Stockholm, Sweden, with his wife and two children. Connect with him on Facebook and Twitter @BackmanLand and on Instagram @Backmansk.\"},{\"id\":\"54037468T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

Fredrik Backman is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of A Man Called Ove (soon to be a major motion picture starring Tom Hanks), My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry, Britt-Marie Was Here, Beartown, Us Against You, as well as two novellas, And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and Longer and The Deal of a Lifetime. His books are published in more than forty countries. He lives in Stockholm, Sweden, with his wife and two children.\"},{\"id\":\"43988680T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"

Fredrik Backman is a Swedish blogger and columnist. A Man Called Ove, his first novel, has sold more than 500,000 copies in its native country and has been published in more than twenty-five languages all over the world. His second novel, My Grandmother Sent Me to Tell You She’s Sorry, will be published by Atria in 2015.\"},{\"id\":\"119725246T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"5\",\"text\":\"

Fredrik Backman is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of A Man Called Ove, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry, Britt-Marie Was Here, Beartown, Us Against You, Anxious People, The Winners, and My Friends, as well as two novellas and one work of nonfiction. His books are published in more than forty countries. He lives in Stockholm, Sweden, with his wife and two children. Connect with him on Facebook and X @BackmanLand and on Instagram @Backmansk.

\"},{\"id\":\"119882394T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"6\",\"text\":\"

\"},{\"id\":\"67057656T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"7\",\"text\":\"Fredrik Backman is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of A Man Called Ove, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry, Britt-Marie Was Here, Beartown, Us Against You, Anxious People, The Winners, and My Friends, as well as two novellas and one work of nonfiction. His books are published in more than forty countries. He lives in Stockholm, Sweden, with his wife and two children. Connect with him on Facebook and X @BackmanLand and on Instagram @Backmansk.\"},{\"id\":\"105888065T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"8\",\"text\":\"Fredrik Backman is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of A Man Called Ove, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry, Britt-Marie Was Here, Beartown, Us Against You, Anxious People, The Winners, My Friends, as well as two novellas and one work of nonfiction. His books are published in more than forty countries. He lives in Stockholm, Sweden, with his wife and two children. Connect with him on Facebook and X @BackmanLand and on Instagram @Backmansk.\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/39729685233905","gid://shopify/Metafield/39729684906225","gid://shopify/Metafield/39729685201137","gid://shopify/Metafield/39729685070065","[{\"contributorId\":16235088,\"fullName\":\"Fredrik Backman\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",[7413],{"_148":7414,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":-5,"_3716":7415,"_5881":7416,"_5883":7417,"_5885":7418,"_5887":7369,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46246257033457",{"_148":7421,"_144":7422,"_5898":-5,"_3989":7423,"_3985":7424},{"_5892":7420,"_5894":5895},{"_76":7368,"_41":7369},[7419],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"20.0","gid://shopify/ProductImage/47482885079281","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781476738024_p0.jpg?v=1790908519",871,1356,{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":7420,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/8873560277233","A Christmas Memory / One Christmas / The Thanksgiving Visitor","9780679602378","Three holiday stories in one festive volume from literary titan Truman Capote: “A Christmas Memory,” “The Thanksgiving Visitor,” and “One Christmas”“Capote, in a bright, fluttering, wheeling way, makes all the tinsel and confetti and embroidery that bind together such delicate emotions as nostalgia and sentimentality come vigorously to life.”—The New Yorker, on “A Christmas Memory”Here are three holiday stories that Truman Capote himself regarded as among his greatest works of short fiction. “A Christmas Memory” and “The Thanksgiving Visitor” were inspired by Capote’s early years with a family of distant relatives in rural Alabama. These two childhood tales pay loving tribute to an eccentric old-maid cousin, Miss Sook Faulk, who became Capote’s best friend. In “A Christmas Memory,” Miss Sook, Buddy (the narrator), and their dog, Queenie, celebrate the yuletide in a hilariously tipsy state. In the poignant reminiscence “One Christmas,” six-year-old Buddy journeys to New Orleans for a reunion with his estranged father that shatters many illusions. And in “The Thanksgiving Visitor,” Miss Sook invites an unexpected guest to the holiday meal: the school bully, Odd Henderson, whom Buddy calls “the meanest human creature in my experience.”Distinguished by Capote’s delicate interplay of childhood sensibility and recollective vision, these three classics are gems that celebrate the unique bonds of friends and family.","Three holiday stories in one festive volume from literary titan Truman Capote: “A Christmas Memory,” “The Thanksgiving Visitor,” and “One Christmas”

“Capote, in a bright, fluttering, wheeling way, makes all the tinsel and confetti and embroidery that bind together such delicate emotions as nostalgia and sentimentality come vigorously to life.”—The New Yorker, on “A Christmas Memory”

Here are three holiday stories that Truman Capote himself regarded as among his greatest works of short fiction. “A Christmas Memory” and “The Thanksgiving Visitor” were inspired by Capote’s early years with a family of distant relatives in rural Alabama. These two childhood tales pay loving tribute to an eccentric old-maid cousin, Miss Sook Faulk, who became Capote’s best friend.

In “A Christmas Memory,” Miss Sook, Buddy (the narrator), and their dog, Queenie, celebrate the yuletide in a hilariously tipsy state. In the poignant reminiscence “One Christmas,” six-year-old Buddy journeys to New Orleans for a reunion with his estranged father that shatters many illusions. And in “The Thanksgiving Visitor,” Miss Sook invites an unexpected guest to the holiday meal: the school bully, Odd Henderson, whom Buddy calls “the meanest human creature in my experience.”

Distinguished by Capote’s delicate interplay of childhood sensibility and recollective vision, these three classics are gems that celebrate the unique bonds of friends and family.",{"_148":7483,"_144":7484,"_3989":7320,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":7487},{"_5902":7485,"_5904":7486},{"_5873":7475},{"_5838":7460},{"_5838":7430},{"_5838":5797},[7441,7442,-5,7443,7444,-5,7445,7446,7447,7448,7449,-5,7450,7451,-5,7452,7453,7454],{"_148":7473,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":7474},{"_148":7471,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5868,"_5838":7472},{"_148":7470,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":7469,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":7468,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":7466,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":7467},{"_148":7464,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":7465},{"_148":7462,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":7463},{"_148":7461,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":7459,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":7460},{"_148":7458,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":7430},{"_148":7457,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":7456,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":6450},{"_148":7455,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":6325},"gid://shopify/Metafield/66663616119025","gid://shopify/Metafield/66663616151793","gid://shopify/Metafield/40966138855665","gid://shopify/Metafield/40966134563057","gid://shopify/Metafield/40966141083889","[\"Classroom Literature & Nonfiction (p5500)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/40966138560753","gid://shopify/Metafield/40966136922353","1112030424","gid://shopify/Metafield/40966139969777","A-Christmas-Memory-One-Christmas-the-Thanksgiving-Visitor/Truman-Capote","gid://shopify/Metafield/40966140821745","[{\"id\":\"58841403T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Imagine a morning in late November. A coming of winter morning more than twenty years ago. Consider the kitchen of a spreading old house in a country town. A great black stove is its main feature; but there is also a big round table and a fireplace with two rocking chairs placed in front of it. Just today the fireplace commenced its seasonal roar.
(Continues…)

Excerpted from "A Christmas Memory"
by .
Copyright © 1996 Truman Capote.
Excerpted by permission of Random House Publishing Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

\"},{\"id\":\"126962983T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Imagine a morning in late November. A coming of winter morning more than twenty years ago. Consider the kitchen of a spreading old house in a country town. A great black stove is its main feature; but there is also a big round table and a fireplace with two rocking chairs placed in front of it. Just today the fireplace commenced its seasonal roar.

A woman with shorn white hair is standing at the kitchen window. She is wearing tennis shoes and a shapeless gray sweater over a summery calico dress. She is small and sprightly, like a bantam hen; but, due to a long youthful illness, her shoulders are pitifully hunched. Her face is remarkable-not unlike Lincoln's, craggy like that, and tinted by sun and wind; but it is delicate too, finely boned, and her eyes are sherry-colored and timid. \\\"Oh my,\\\" she exclaims, her breath smoking the windowpane, \\\"It's fruitcake weather!\\\"

The person to whom she is speaking is myself. I am seven; she is sixty-something. We are cousins, very distant ones, and we have lived together--well, as long as I can remember. Other people inhabit the house, relatives; and though they have power over us, and frequently make us cry, we are not, on the whole, too much aware of them. We are each other's best friend. She calls me Buddy, in memory of a boy who was formerly her best friend. The other Buddy died in the 1880's, when she was still a child. She is still a child.

\\\"I knew it before I got out of bed,\\\" she says, turning away from the window with a purposeful excitement in her eyes. \\\"The courthouse bell sounded so cold and clear. And there were no birds singing; they've gone to warmer country, yes indeed. Oh, Buddy, stop stuffing biscuit and fetch our buggy. Help me find my hat. We've thirty cakes to bake.\\\"

It's always the same: a morning arrives in November, and my friend, as though officially inaugurating the Christmas time of year that exhilarates her imagination and fuels the blaze of her heart, announces: \\\"It's fruitcake weather! Fetch our buggy. Help me find my hat.\\\"

The hat is found, a straw cartwheel corsaged with velvet roses out-of-doors has faded: it once belonged to a more fashionable relative. Together, we guide our buggy, a dilapidated baby carriage, out to the garden and into a grove of pecan trees. The buggy is mine; that is, it was bought for me when I was born. It is made of wicker, rather unraveled, and the wheels wobble like a drunkard's legs. But it is a faithful object; springtimes, we take it to the woods and fill it with flowers, herbs, wild fern for our porch pots; in the summer, we pile it with picnic paraphernalia and sugar-cane fishing poles and roll it down to the edge of a creek; it has its winter uses, too: as a truck for hauling firewood from the yard to the kitchen, as a warm bed for Queenie, our tough little orange and white rat terrier who has survived distemper and two rattlesnake bites. Queenie is trotting beside it now.

Three hours later we are back in the kitchen hulling a heaping buggyload of windfall pecans. Our backs hurt from gathering them: how hard they were to find (the main crop having been shaken off the trees and sold by the orchard's owners, who are not us) among the concealing leaves, the frosted, deceiving grass. Caarackle! A cheery crunch, scraps of miniature thunder sound as the shells collapse and the golden mound of sweet oily ivory meat mounts in the milkglass bowl. Queenie begs to taste, and now and again my friend sneaks her a mite, though insisting we deprive ourselves. \\\"We mustn't, Buddy. If we start, we won't stop. And there's scarcely enough as there is. For thirty cakes.\\\" The kitchen is growing dark. Dusk turns the window into a mirror: our reflections mingle with the rising moon as we work by the fireside in the firelight. At last, when the moon is quite high, we toss the final hull into the fire and, with joined sighs, watch it catch flame. The buggy is empty, the bowl is brimful.

We eat our supper (cold biscuits, bacon, blackberry jam) and discuss tomorrow. Tomorrow the kind of work I like best begins: buying. Cherries and citron, ginger and vanilla and canned Hawaiian pineapple, rinds and raisins and walnuts and whiskey and oh, so much flour, butter, so many eggs, spices, flavorings: why, we'll need a pony to pull the buggy home.

But before these purchases can be made, there is the question of money. Neither of us has any. Except for skinflint sums persons in the house occasionally provide (a dime is considered very big money); or what we earn ourselves from various activities: holding rummage sales, selling buckets of hand-picked blackberries, jars of homemade jam and apple jelly and peach preserves, rounding up flowers for funerals and weddings. Once we won seventy-ninth prize, five dollars, in a national football contest. Not that we know a fool thing about football. It's just that we enter any contest we hear about: at the moment our hopes are centered on the fifty-thousand-dollar Grand Prize being offered to name a new brand of coffee (we suggested \\\"A.M.\\\"; and, after some hesitation, for my friend thought it perhaps sacrilegious, the slogan \\\"A.M.! Amen!\\\"). To tell the truth, our only really profitable enterprise was the Fun and Freak Museum we conducted in a back-yard woodshed two summers ago. The Fun was a stereopticon with slide views of Washington and New York lent us by a relative who had been to those places (she was furious when she discovered why we'd borrowed it); the Freak was a three-legged biddy chicken hatched by one of our own hens. Everybody hereabouts wanted to see that biddy: we charged grownups a nickel, kids two cents. And took in a good twenty dollars before the museum shut down due to the decease of the main attraction.

But one way and another we do each year accumulate Christmas savings, a Fruitcake Fund. These moneys we keep hidden in an ancient bead purse under a loose board under the floor under a chamber pot under my friend's bed. The purse is seldom removed from this safe location except to make a deposit, or, as happens every Saturday, a withdrawal; for on Saturdays I am allowed ten cents to go to the picture show. My friend has never been to a picture show, nor does she intend to: \\\"I'd rather hear you tell the story, Buddy. That way I can imagine it more. Besides, a person my age shouldn't squander their eyes. When the Lord comes, let me see him clear.\\\" In addition to never having seen a movie, she has never: eaten in a restaurant, traveled more than five miles from home, received or sent a telegram, read anything except funny papers and the Bible, worn cosmetics, cursed, wished someone harm, told a lie on purpose, let a hungry dog go hungry. Here are a few things she has done, does do: killed with a hoe the biggest rattlesnake ever seen in this county (sixteen rattles), dip snuff (secretly), tame hummingbirds (just try it) till they balance on her finger, tell ghost stories (we both believe in ghosts) so tingling they chill you in July, talk to herself, take walks in the rain, grow the prettiest japonicas in town, know the recipe for every sort of old-time Indian cure, including a magical wart-remover.

Now, with supper finished, we retire to the room in a faraway part of the house where my friend sleeps in a scrap-quilt-covered iron bed painted rose pink, her favorite color. Silently, wallowing in the pleasures of conspiracy, we take the bead purse from its secret place and spill its contents on the scrap quilt. Dollar bills, tightly rolled and green as May buds. Somber fifty-cent pieces, heavy enough to weight a dead man's eyes. Lovely dimes, the liveliest coin, the one that really jingles. Nickels and quarters, worn smooth as creek pebbles. But mostly a hateful heap of bitter-odored pennies. Last summer others in the house contracted to pay us a penny for every twenty-five flies we killed. Oh, the carnage of August: the flies that flew to heaven! Yet it was not work in which we took pride. And, as we sit counting pennies, it is as though we were back tabulating dead flies. Neither of us had a head for figures; we count slowly, lose track, start again. According to her calculations, we have $12.73. According to mine, exactly $13. I do hope you're wrong, Buddy. We can't mess around with thirteen. The cakes will fall. Or put somebody in the cemetery. Why, I wouldn't dream of getting out of bed on the thirteenth.\\\" This is true: she always spends thirteenths in bed. So, to be on the safe side, we subtract a penny and toss it out the window.\"},{\"id\":\"47603870T\",\"type\":\"Excerpt\",\"linkText\":\"Read an Excerpt\",\"typeId\":\"1005\",\"abbr\":\"EXC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"Imagine a morning in late November. A coming of winter morning more than twenty years ago. Consider the kitchen of a spreading old house in a country town. A great black stove is its main feature; but there is also a big round table and a fireplace with two rocking chairs placed in front of it. Just today the fireplace commenced its seasonal roar.

A woman with shorn white hair is standing at the kitchen window. She is wearing tennis shoes and a shapeless gray sweater over a summery calico dress. She is small and sprightly, like a bantam hen; but, due to a long youthful illness, her shoulders are pitifully hunched. Her face is remarkable-not unlike Lincoln's, craggy like that, and tinted by sun and wind; but it is delicate too, finely boned, and her eyes are sherry-colored and timid. "Oh my," she exclaims, her breath smoking the windowpane, "It's fruitcake weather!"

The person to whom she is speaking is myself. I am seven; she is sixty-something. We are cousins, very distant ones, and we have lived together—well, as long as I can remember. Other people inhabit the house, relatives; and though they have power over us, and frequently make us cry, we are not, on the whole, too much aware of them. We are each other's best friend. She calls me Buddy, in memory of a boy who was formerly her best friend. The other Buddy died in the 1880's, when she was still a child. She is still a child.

"I knew it before I got out of bed," she says, turning away from the window with a purposeful excitement in her eyes. "The courthouse bell sounded so cold and clear. And there were no birds singing; they've gone to warmer country, yes indeed. Oh, Buddy, stop stuffing biscuit and fetch our buggy. Help me find my hat. We've thirty cakes to bake."

It's always the same: a morning arrives in November, and my friend, as though officially inaugurating the Christmas time of year that exhilarates her imagination and fuels the blaze of her heart, announces: "It's fruitcake weather! Fetch our buggy. Help me find my hat."

The hat is found, a straw cartwheel corsaged with velvet roses out-of-doors has faded: it once belonged to a more fashionable relative. Together, we guide our buggy, a dilapidated baby carriage, out to the garden and into a grove of pecan trees. The buggy is mine; that is, it was bought for me when I was born. It is made of wicker, rather unraveled, and the wheels wobble like a drunkard's legs. But it is a faithful object; springtimes, we take it to the woods and fill it with flowers, herbs, wild fern for our porch pots; in the summer, we pile it with picnic paraphernalia and sugar-cane fishing poles and roll it down to the edge of a creek; it has its winter uses, too: as a truck for hauling firewood from the yard to the kitchen, as a warm bed for Queenie, our tough little orange and white rat terrier who has survived distemper and two rattlesnake bites. Queenie is trotting beside it now.

Three hours later we are back in the kitchen hulling a heaping buggyload of windfall pecans. Our backs hurt from gathering them: how hard they were to find (the main crop having been shaken off the trees and sold by the orchard's owners, who are not us) among the concealing leaves, the frosted, deceiving grass. Caarackle! A cheery crunch, scraps of miniature thunder sound as the shells collapse and the golden mound of sweet oily ivory meat mounts in the milkglass bowl. Queenie begs to taste, and now and again my friend sneaks her a mite, though insisting we deprive ourselves. "We mustn't, Buddy. If we start, we won't stop. And there's scarcely enough as there is. For thirty cakes." The kitchen is growing dark. Dusk turns the window into a mirror: our reflections mingle with the rising moon as we work by the fireside in the firelight. At last, when the moon is quite high, we toss the final hull into the fire and, with joined sighs, watch it catch flame. The buggy is empty, the bowl is brimful.

We eat our supper (cold biscuits, bacon, blackberry jam) and discuss tomorrow. Tomorrow the kind of work I like best begins: buying. Cherries and citron, ginger and vanilla and canned Hawaiian pineapple, rinds and raisins and walnuts and whiskey and oh, so much flour, butter, so many eggs, spices, flavorings: why, we'll need a pony to pull the buggy home.

But before these purchases can be made, there is the question of money. Neither of us has any. Except for skinflint sums persons in the house occasionally provide (a dime is considered very big money); or what we earn ourselves from various activities: holding rummage sales, selling buckets of hand-picked blackberries, jars of homemade jam and apple jelly and peach preserves, rounding up flowers for funerals and weddings. Once we won seventy-ninth prize, five dollars, in a national football contest. Not that we know a fool thing about football. It's just that we enter any contest we hear about: at the moment our hopes are centered on the fifty-thousand-dollar Grand Prize being offered to name a new brand of coffee (we suggested "A.M."; and, after some hesitation, for my friend thought it perhaps sacrilegious, the slogan "A.M.! Amen!"). To tell the truth, our only really profitable enterprise was the Fun and Freak Museum we conducted in a back-yard woodshed two summers ago. The Fun was a stereopticon with slide views of Washington and New York lent us by a relative who had been to those places (she was furious when she discovered why we'd borrowed it); the Freak was a three-legged biddy chicken hatched by one of our own hens. Everybody hereabouts wanted to see that biddy: we charged grownups a nickel, kids two cents. And took in a good twenty dollars before the museum shut down due to the decease of the main attraction.

But one way and another we do each year accumulate Christmas savings, a Fruitcake Fund. These moneys we keep hidden in an ancient bead purse under a loose board under the floor under a chamber pot under my friend's bed. The purse is seldom removed from this safe location except to make a deposit, or, as happens every Saturday, a withdrawal; for on Saturdays I am allowed ten cents to go to the picture show. My friend has never been to a picture show, nor does she intend to: "I'd rather hear you tell the story, Buddy. That way I can imagine it more. Besides, a person my age shouldn't squander their eyes. When the Lord comes, let me see him clear." In addition to never having seen a movie, she has never: eaten in a restaurant, traveled more than five miles from home, received or sent a telegram, read anything except funny papers and the Bible, worn cosmetics, cursed, wished someone harm, told a lie on purpose, let a hungry dog go hungry. Here are a few things she has done, does do: killed with a hoe the biggest rattlesnake ever seen in this county (sixteen rattles), dip snuff (secretly), tame hummingbirds (just try it) till they balance on her finger, tell ghost stories (we both believe in ghosts) so tingling they chill you in July, talk to herself, take walks in the rain, grow the prettiest japonicas in town, know the recipe for every sort of old-time Indian cure, including a magical wart-remover.

Now, with supper finished, we retire to the room in a faraway part of the house where my friend sleeps in a scrap-quilt-covered iron bed painted rose pink, her favorite color. Silently, wallowing in the pleasures of conspiracy, we take the bead purse from its secret place and spill its contents on the scrap quilt. Dollar bills, tightly rolled and green as May buds. Somber fifty-cent pieces, heavy enough to weight a dead man's eyes. Lovely dimes, the liveliest coin, the one that really jingles. Nickels and quarters, worn smooth as creek pebbles. But mostly a hateful heap of bitter-odored pennies. Last summer others in the house contracted to pay us a penny for every twenty-five flies we killed. Oh, the carnage of August: the flies that flew to heaven! Yet it was not work in which we took pride. And, as we sit counting pennies, it is as though we were back tabulating dead flies. Neither of us had a head for figures; we count slowly, lose track, start again. According to her calculations, we have $12.73. According to mine, exactly $13. I do hope you're wrong, Buddy. We can't mess around with thirteen. The cakes will fall. Or put somebody in the cemetery. Why, I wouldn't dream of getting out of bed on the thirteenth." This is true: she always spends thirteenths in bed. So, to be on the safe side, we subtract a penny and toss it out the window.\"},{\"id\":\"126962984T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"“Capote, in a bright, fluttering, wheeling way, makes all the tinsel and confetti and embroidery that bind together such delicate emotions as nostalgia and sentimentality come vigorously to life.”—The New Yorker

“An enduring gift for all seasons.”—HuffPost

“[A] gem of a holiday story.”—School Library Journal (starred review)\"},{\"id\":\"27830284T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"New Yorker\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Capote, in a bright, fluttering, wheeling way, makes all the tinsel and confetti and embroidery that bind together such delicate emotions in nostalgia and sentimentality come vigorously to life. \"},{\"id\":\"126962985T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Truman Capote was born September 30, 1924, in New Orleans. After his parents’ divorce, he was sent to live with relatives in Monroeville, Alabama. It was here he would meet his lifelong friend, the author Harper Lee. Capote rose to international prominence in 1948 with the publication of his debut novel, Other Voices, Other Rooms. Among his celebrated works are Breakfast at Tiffany’s, A Tree of Night, The Grass Harp, Summer Crossing, A Christmas Memory, and In Cold Blood, widely considered one of the greatest books of the twentieth century. Twice awarded the O. Henry Short Story Prize, Capote was also the recipient of a National Institute of Arts and Letters Creative Writing Award and an Edgar Award. He died August 25, 1984, shortly before his sixtieth birthday.

\"},{\"id\":\"27830290T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Truman Capote was born September 30, 1924, in New Orleans. After his parents’ divorce, he was sent to live with relatives in Monroeville, Alabama. It was here he would meet his lifelong friend, the author Harper Lee. Capote rose to international prominence in 1948 with the publication of his debut novel, Other Voices, Other Rooms. Among his celebrated works are Breakfast at Tiffany’s, A Tree of Night, The Grass Harp, Summer Crossing, A Christmas Memory, and In Cold Blood, widely considered one of the greatest books of the twentieth century. Twice awarded the O. Henry Short Story Prize, Capote was also the recipient of a National Institute of Arts and Letters Creative Writing Award and an Edgar Award. He died August 25, 1984, shortly before his sixtieth birthday.\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/40966138757361","gid://shopify/Metafield/40966137315569","gid://shopify/Metafield/40966138659057","gid://shopify/Metafield/40966138298609","Modern Library Series","gid://shopify/Metafield/40966137938161","[{\"contributorId\":166338,\"fullName\":\"Truman Capote\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":6}]",[7476],{"_148":7477,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":-5,"_3716":7478,"_5881":7479,"_5883":7480,"_5885":7481,"_5887":7430,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/46274426208497",{"_148":7483,"_144":7484,"_5898":-5,"_3989":7320,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":7420,"_5894":5895},{"_76":7429,"_41":7430},[7482],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/47579499036913","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9780679602378_p0.jpg?v=1768975793",{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":7420,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/9329371578609","Whistler: A Novel","9780063511637","A Katie Couric Book Club Pick / One of President Obama's '26 Summer Reading List Picks / A Good Housekeeping Book Club Pick / A GoodReads Most Anticipated Book of Summer“Ann Patchett’s new novel is a rare phenomenon in contemporary fiction: a novel both majestic and intimate, original and masterful in its structure, crystalline in its prose, revelatory in its insights, utterly devastating yet ultimately uplifting in its emotional impact. . . . I think it is her best novel yet.” —The Boston GlobeThe acclaimed, prize-winning #1 New York Times bestselling writer returns with a moving, luminous novel that reminds us of the sweetness and impermanence of life and the power of connection to defy time.When Daphne Fuller and her husband Jonathan visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art, they notice an older, white-haired gentleman following them. The man turns out to be Eddie Triplett, her former stepfather, who had been married to her mother for a little more than year when Daphne was nine. Now fifty-three, Daphne hasn’t seen Eddie for many years, not since the fateful event that changed the direction of both their lives. Meeting again, time falls away; while their relationship was brief, it had a profound impact on them both, and now that they are reunited, they have no intention of ever being separated again.Whistler is a story about two adults looking back over the choices they made, and the choices that were made for them. It’s a story about bravery, memory, the often small yet consequential moments that define our lives, and the endless stream of loss that in time comes for us all. Beautiful in its simplicity, it is ultimately about how love endures, and how the feeling of being known by one other person, even for a short period of time, can change everything.","

A Katie Couric Book Club Pick / One of President Obama's '26 Summer Reading List Picks / A Good Housekeeping Book Club Pick / A GoodReads Most Anticipated Book of Summer

“Ann Patchett’s new novel is a rare phenomenon in contemporary fiction: a novel both majestic and intimate, original and masterful in its structure, crystalline in its prose, revelatory in its insights, utterly devastating yet ultimately uplifting in its emotional impact. . . . I think it is her best novel yet.” —The Boston Globe

The acclaimed, prize-winning #1 New York Times bestselling writer returns with a moving, luminous novel that reminds us of the sweetness and impermanence of life and the power of connection to defy time.

When Daphne Fuller and her husband Jonathan visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art, they notice an older, white-haired gentleman following them. The man turns out to be Eddie Triplett, her former stepfather, who had been married to her mother for a little more than year when Daphne was nine. Now fifty-three, Daphne hasn’t seen Eddie for many years, not since the fateful event that changed the direction of both their lives. Meeting again, time falls away; while their relationship was brief, it had a profound impact on them both, and now that they are reunited, they have no intention of ever being separated again.

Whistler is a story about two adults looking back over the choices they made, and the choices that were made for them. It’s a story about bravery, memory, the often small yet consequential moments that define our lives, and the endless stream of loss that in time comes for us all. Beautiful in its simplicity, it is ultimately about how love endures, and how the feeling of being known by one other person, even for a short period of time, can change everything.

",{"_148":7544,"_144":7545,"_3989":7320,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":7548},{"_5902":7546,"_5904":7547},{"_5873":7534},{"_5838":7521},{"_5838":7490},{"_5838":5797},[7501,-5,-5,7502,7503,-5,7504,7505,7506,7507,7508,-5,7509,7510,-5,7511,7512,7513],{"_148":7532,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":7533},{"_148":7531,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":7530,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":7529,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":7527,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":7528},{"_148":7525,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":7526},{"_148":7523,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":7524},{"_148":7522,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":7520,"_5834":5843,"_5836":79,"_5838":7521},{"_148":7519,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":7490},{"_148":7518,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":7516,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":7517},{"_148":7514,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":7515},"gid://shopify/Metafield/81433823543537","104","gid://shopify/Metafield/81433823576305","{\"scale_min\":\"1.0\",\"scale_max\":\"5.0\",\"value\":\"4.7\"}","gid://shopify/Metafield/61633145438449","gid://shopify/Metafield/61633143406833","gid://shopify/Metafield/73446341476593","[\"BADGE - $3 OFF (p7877)\",\"BADGE - 10% OFF (p7873)\",\"Our Most Anticipated Books (p10162)\",\"Top Books for Your Summer Reading List (p7187)\",\"B|Bestseller|#007C6C (p7858)\",\"Summer Reading (p5957)\",\"Retail Price fixing (p261)\",\"Barnes & Noble Holiday Gift Guide (p5430)\",\"BADGE - Best Seller (p7883)\",\"Mental Health Awareness (p9392)\"]","gid://shopify/Metafield/61633145241841","gid://shopify/Metafield/61633144652017","1148504538","gid://shopify/Metafield/61633145864433","Whistler/Ann-Patchett","gid://shopify/Metafield/61886196711665","[{\"id\":\"127562871T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Patchett is even more entrancing, radiant, and heart-seizing than she is in Tom Lake in this tale of complicated marriages, secret love, fear, fury, courage, and reconciliation. - Booklist (starred review)

Like many of Patchett’s works, this beautiful and generous novel feels effortless, never straining for effect. It’s one of her best. - Publishers Weekly (starred review)

An evocative and moving tribute to the death-defying, heart-opening, infinitely redemptive power of storytelling. - Kirkus (starred review)

Patchett is a clarion voice who can persuade any reader to devour her books without pause. Her latest is no exception, with strong characters, compelling circumstances, and the one detail on which lives can pivot to ruin or to happiness. Patchett devises for her characters an incident with edge-of-one’s-seat suspense in this novel overflowing with rewards for all. - Library Journal

\\\"A modern family's platonic, later-in-life love story. . . . intimate and entertaining [with a] generous worldview.\\\" - Helen Schulman, The New York Times

\\\"This exquisite writer has once again delivered an incandescent work of fiction — sweet, but never sentimental, infinitely wise and suffused with love. It’s also an ode to New York City itself…. While Patchett has clearly drawn on actual events and individuals to produce this luminous work, she exhibits the expert novelist’s knack for following a plot where the imagination takes it.... I didn't want it to end.\\\" - Leigh Haber, The Los Angeles Times

\\\"Ann Patchett’s new novel, Whistler, is that loveliest of summer gifts, a story of reconciliation, of old affections renewed, of a family’s circumference enlarged. Fans of the author’s previous work will open these pages like an old shoebox of family photos. Newcomers — how I envy them those first moments — will discover a writer of gentle wit and quiet grace.\\\" - Ron Charles

\\\"Patchett. . . has a penchant for capturing the bittersweet nuances of family and friendship with wit and candor. . . . It's a simple yet soaring tale of love, memory and one extraordinary horse.\\\" - Elle

\\\"NPR's reviewer Heller McAlpin [once] observed that [Patchett] 'may well be the most beloved book person in America.' The author...only burnishes that sterling reputation with Whistler, her finely crafted account of a reunion between daughter and stepfather.\\\" - NPR

“Patchett’s reputation precedes her enough that just seeing her name on the cover means you’re in for a moving, captivating work of literature. And Whistler is no different.\\\" — E! News

“In her next life, let us hope that Ann Patchett will have the opportunity to read her novels from the perspective of an outsider and have the same awe-inspiring reading experience that we do.” — Harvard Crimson

\"},{\"id\":\"131115093T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

Like many of Patchett's works, this beautiful and generous novel feels effortless, never straining for effect. It's one of her best. - Publishers Weekly (starred review)

An evocative and moving tribute to the death-defying, heart-opening, infinitely redemptive power of storytelling. - Kirkus (starred review)

Patchett is a clarion voice who can persuade any reader to devour her books without pause. Her latest is no exception, with strong characters, compelling circumstances, and the one detail on which lives can pivot to ruin or to happiness. Patchett devises for her characters an incident with edge-of-one's-seat suspense in this novel overflowing with rewards for all. - Library Journal

\\\"A modern family's platonic, later-in-life love story. . . . intimate and entertaining [with a] generous worldview.\\\" - Helen Schulman, The New York Times

\\\"This exquisite writer has once again delivered an incandescent work of fiction -- sweet, but never sentimental, infinitely wise and suffused with love. It's also an ode to New York City itself.... While Patchett has clearly drawn on actual events and individuals to produce this luminous work, she exhibits the expert novelist's knack for following a plot where the imagination takes it.... I didn't want it to end.\\\" - Leigh Haber, The Los Angeles Times

\\\"Ann Patchett's new novel is a rare phenomenon in contemporary fiction: a novel both majestic and intimate, original and masterful in its structure, crystalline in its prose, revelatory in its insights, utterly devastating yet ultimately uplifting in its emotional impact. . . . I think it is her best novel yet.\\\" - Priscilla Gilman, The Boston Globe

\\\"Ann Patchett's new novel, Whistler, is that loveliest of summer gifts, a story of reconciliation, of old affections renewed, of a family's circumference enlarged. Fans of the author's previous work will open these pages like an old shoebox of family photos. Newcomers -- how I envy them those first moments -- will discover a writer of gentle wit and quiet grace.\\\" - Ron Charles

\\\"Patchett's reputation precedes her enough that just seeing her name on the cover means you're in for a moving, captivating work of literature. And Whistler is no different.\\\" -- E! News

\\\"In her next life, let us hope that Ann Patchett will have the opportunity to read her novels from the perspective of an outsider and have the same awe-inspiring reading experience that we do.\\\" -- Harvard Crimson

\"},{\"id\":\"117335168T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\" Notes From Your Bookseller

Ann Patchett returns with a powerful novel about the choices we make and the ones that are made for us. After reuniting with a prominent figure from her past, Daphne confronts the impermanence of life and the beauty of connection in Whistler: A Novel.

\"},{\"id\":\"132215903T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

\"},{\"id\":\"118591276T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Ann Patchett is the author of novels, most recently the #1 New York Times bestselling Tom Lake, works of nonfiction, and children's books. She has been the recipient of numerous awards, including the PEN/Faulkner, the Women's Prize for Fiction in the UK, and the Book Sense Book of the Year. Her novel The Dutch House was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize. Her work has been translated into more than thirty languages, and Time magazine named her one of the 100 Most Influential People in the World. President Biden awarded her the National Humanities Medal in recognition of her contributions to American culture. She lives in Nashville, Tennessee, where she is the owner of Parnassus Books.

\"},{\"id\":\"116218127T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Ann Patchett is the author of novels, most recently the #1 New York Times bestselling Tom Lake, works of nonfiction, and children's books. She has been the recipient of numerous awards, including the PEN/Faulkner, the Women's Prize for Fiction in the UK, and the Book Sense Book of the Year. Her novel The Dutch House was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize. Her work has been translated into more than thirty languages, and Time magazine named her one of the 100 Most Influential People in the World. President Biden awarded her the National Humanities Medal in recognition of her contributions to American culture. She lives in Nashville, Tennessee, where she is the owner of Parnassus Books.

\"},{\"id\":\"118591279T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"

\"},{\"id\":\"116226658T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"Ann Patchett is the author of novels, most recently the #1 New York Times bestselling Tom Lake, works of nonfiction, and children's books. She has been the recipient of numerous awards, including the PEN/Faulkner, the Women's Prize for Fiction in the UK, and the Book Sense Book of the Year. Her novel The Dutch House was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize. Her work has been translated into more than thirty languages, and Time magazine named her one of the 100 Most Influential People in the World. President Biden awarded her the National Humanities Medal in recognition of her contributions to American culture. She lives in Nashville, Tennessee, where she is the owner of Parnassus Books.

\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/61633145372913","gid://shopify/Metafield/61633144783089","gid://shopify/Metafield/61633145307377","gid://shopify/Metafield/61633145045233","[{\"contributorId\":213041,\"fullName\":\"Ann Patchett\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1}]",[7535],{"_148":7536,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":7537,"_3716":7538,"_5881":7539,"_5883":7540,"_5885":7541,"_5887":7490,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47012250321137",{"_5892":6668,"_5894":5895},{"_148":7544,"_144":7545,"_5898":-5,"_3989":7320,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":7543,"_5894":5895},{"_76":7489,"_41":7490},[7542],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"27.0","gid://shopify/ProductImage/47636712718577","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9780063511637_p0.jpg?v=1774471825",{"_5892":6668,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6668,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":7543,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/9404951986417","The Corrections: A Novel (25th Anniversary Edition)","9781250460486","#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER * NATIONAL BOOK AWARD WINNER * A NEW YORK TIMES BEST BOOK OF THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY: TOP TENThe twenty-fifth anniversary edition of Jonathan Franzen’s landmark novel The Corrections, now in a beautiful deluxe edition with french flaps, interior cover art, and a new afterword by Adam Moss. “A spellbinding novel” (People) from the New York Times bestselling author Jonathan Franzen, the author of Crossroads, The Corrections is a comic, tragic family story and epic of worlds colliding. After almost fifty years as a wife and mother, Enid Lambert is ready to have some fun. Unfortunately, her husband, Alfred, is losing his sanity to Parkinson’s disease, and their children have long since flown the family nest to the catastrophes of their own lives. Desperate for some pleasure to look forward to, Enid has set her heart on an elusive goal: bringing her family together for one last Christmas at home.An epic comedy stretching from the American heartland to Wall Street and Eastern Europe, The Corrections brings an old-fashioned world of civic virtue and sexual inhibitions into violent collision with the era of home surveillance, hands-off parenting, do-it-yourself mental health care, and globalized greed. Timely in its themes, it is timeless in its portrait of a family in crisis.","

#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER * NATIONAL BOOK AWARD WINNER * A NEW YORK TIMES BEST BOOK OF THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY: TOP TEN

The twenty-fifth anniversary edition of Jonathan Franzen’s landmark novel The Corrections, now in a beautiful deluxe edition with french flaps, interior cover art, and a new afterword by Adam Moss.

“A spellbinding novel” (People) from the New York Times bestselling author Jonathan Franzen, the author of Crossroads, The Corrections is a comic, tragic family story and epic of worlds colliding. After almost fifty years as a wife and mother, Enid Lambert is ready to have some fun. Unfortunately, her husband, Alfred, is losing his sanity to Parkinson’s disease, and their children have long since flown the family nest to the catastrophes of their own lives. Desperate for some pleasure to look forward to, Enid has set her heart on an elusive goal: bringing her family together for one last Christmas at home.

An epic comedy stretching from the American heartland to Wall Street and Eastern Europe, The Corrections brings an old-fashioned world of civic virtue and sexual inhibitions into violent collision with the era of home surveillance, hands-off parenting, do-it-yourself mental health care, and globalized greed. Timely in its themes, it is timeless in its portrait of a family in crisis.

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“You will laugh, wince, groan, weep, leave the table and maybe the country, promise never to go home again, and be reminded of why you read serious fiction in the first place.”
—The New York Review of Books

“Marvelous . . . Everything we want in a novel—except, when it’s rocking along, for it never to be over.”
—The New York Times Book Review

“Jonathan Franzen has built a powerful novel out of the swarming consciousness of a marriage, a family, a whole culture—our culture.”
—Don DeLillo

“Looms as a model for what ambitious storytelling can still say about modern life . . . Franzen swings for the fences and clears them with yards to spare.”
—San Francisco Chronicle

“The novel we’ve been waiting for . . . A stunning anatomy of family dysfunction . . . A contemporary novel that will endure.”
—Esquire

“In its complexity, its scrutinizing and utterly unsentimental humanity, and its grasp of the subtle relationships between domestic drama and global events . . . it is a major accomplishment.”
—Michael Cunningham

“Frighteningly, luminously authentic.”
—The Boston Globe

“A genuine masterpiece . . . This novel is a wisecracking, eloquent, heartbreaking beauty.”
—Elle

“The brightest, boldest, and most ambitious novel I’ve read in many years.”
—Pat Conroy

“Brilliant . . . Almost unbearably lifelike.”
—The New York Observer

“Funny and deeply sad, large-hearted and merciless, The Corrections is a testament to the range and depth of pleasures great fiction affords.”
—David Foster Wallace

“This is a spellbinding novel . . . that is both funny and piercing.”
—People

\"},{\"id\":\"120600384T\",\"type\":\"Award Note\",\"linkText\":\"Award Note\",\"typeId\":\"1036\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"2003 International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award - Nominee, Nominated
2002 PEN/Faulkner Award - Nominee, Nominated
2002 Book Sense Book of the Year Award - Nominee, Nominated
2001 National Book Awards - Winner, Winner
2001 (Selected for) Oprah's Book Club, Long-listed
2001 L.A. Times Book Prize - Finalist, Short-listed
2002 Pulitzer Prize - Finalist, Short-listed
2002 ALA Notable Books - Winner, Winner
\"},{\"id\":\"120600388T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

Jonathan Franzen is the author of six novels, including Freedom, Purity, and Crossroads, and five works of nonfiction, including Farther Away and The End of the End of the Earth, all published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux. He lives in Santa Cruz, California.

\"}]","gid://shopify/Metafield/74376267923697","gid://shopify/Metafield/74376267628785","gid://shopify/Metafield/74376267890929","gid://shopify/Metafield/74376267759857","[{\"contributorId\":322758,\"fullName\":\"Jonathan Franzen\",\"jobName\":\"Author\",\"sequenceNumber\":1},{\"contributorId\":889936,\"fullName\":\"Adam Moss\",\"jobName\":\"Afterword\",\"sequenceNumber\":2}]",[7590],{"_148":7591,"_5806":17,"_5877":17,"_5878":-5,"_3716":7592,"_5881":7593,"_5883":7594,"_5885":7595,"_5887":7551,"_76":5888,"_5889":-5},"gid://shopify/ProductVariant/47560848441585",{"_148":7597,"_144":7598,"_5898":-5,"_3989":7599,"_3985":5900},{"_5892":7420,"_5894":5895},{"_76":7550,"_41":7551},[7596],{"_3879":5891,"_5838":5888},"gid://shopify/ProductImage/49506206253297","https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0674/5433/7265/files/9781250460486_p0.jpg?v=1781536241",1295,{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":6025,"_5894":5895},{"_5892":7420,"_5894":5895},"gid://shopify/Product/9214344593649","The Finest Hotel in Kabul: A People's History of Afghanistan (Women's Prize for Non-Fiction Winner)","9780735243415","AN INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLERWINNER OF THE 2026 WOMEN'S PRIZE FOR NON-FICTIONWINNER OF THE 2026 RAKUTEN KOBO EMERGING WRITER PRIZE FOR NON-FICTIONA NEW YORK TIMES EDITORS’ CHOICEThe story of a hotel. The story of a nation.When the Inter-Continental Kabul opened in 1969, Afghanistan’s first luxury hotel symbolised a dream of a modernising country connected to the world.More than fifty years on, the Inter-Continental is still standing. It has endured Soviet occupation, multiple coups, a grievous civil war, a US invasion and the rise, fall and rise of the Taliban. History lives within its scarred windows and walls. Lyse Doucet, the BBC’s Chief International Correspondent, has been checking into the Inter-Continental since 1988. And here, she uses its story to craft a richly immersive history of modern Afghanistan. It is the story of Hazrat, the septuagenarian housekeeper who still holds fast to his Inter-Continental training from the hotel’s 1970s glory days—an era of haute cuisine and high fashion, when Afghanistan was a kingdom and Kabul was the ‘Paris of Asia’. It is the story of Abida, who became the first female chef to cook in the Inter-Con’s famous kitchen after the fall of the Taliban in 2001. And it is the story of Malalai and Sadeq, the twenty-something staff who seized every opportunity offered by two decades of fragile democracy—only to witness the Taliban roaring back in 2021. The result is a remarkably vivid history of how Afghans have survived a half century of destruction and disruption. It is the story of a hotel but also the story of a people.","AN INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLER
WINNER OF THE 2026 WOMEN'S PRIZE FOR NON-FICTION
WINNER OF THE 2026 RAKUTEN KOBO EMERGING WRITER PRIZE FOR NON-FICTION
A NEW YORK TIMES EDITORS’ CHOICE

The story of a hotel. The story of a nation.

When the Inter-Continental Kabul opened in 1969, Afghanistan’s first luxury hotel symbolised a dream of a modernising country connected to the world.

More than fifty years on, the Inter-Continental is still standing. It has endured Soviet occupation, multiple coups, a grievous civil war, a US invasion and the rise, fall and rise of the Taliban. History lives within its scarred windows and walls.

Lyse Doucet, the BBC’s Chief International Correspondent, has been checking into the Inter-Continental since 1988. And here, she uses its story to craft a richly immersive history of modern Afghanistan.

It is the story of Hazrat, the septuagenarian housekeeper who still holds fast to his Inter-Continental training from the hotel’s 1970s glory days—an era of haute cuisine and high fashion, when Afghanistan was a kingdom and Kabul was the ‘Paris of Asia’. It is the story of Abida, who became the first female chef to cook in the Inter-Con’s famous kitchen after the fall of the Taliban in 2001. And it is the story of Malalai and Sadeq, the twenty-something staff who seized every opportunity offered by two decades of fragile democracy—only to witness the Taliban roaring back in 2021.

The result is a remarkably vivid history of how Afghans have survived a half century of destruction and disruption. It is the story of a hotel but also the story of a people.",{"_148":7652,"_144":7653,"_3989":7654,"_3985":5900,"_5898":-5},{"_5902":7657},{"_5902":7655,"_5904":7656},{"_5873":7644},{"_5838":7605},{"_5838":5797},[7615,-5,-5,7616,7617,-5,7618,7619,7620,7621,7622,-5,-5,7623,-5,7624,7625,7626],{"_148":7642,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5871,"_5838":7643},{"_148":7641,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5866,"_5838":5797},{"_148":7640,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5814,"_5838":5797},{"_148":7639,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5862,"_5838":5863},{"_148":7637,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5859,"_5838":7638},{"_148":7635,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5856,"_5838":7636},{"_148":7633,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5853,"_5838":7634},{"_148":7632,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5850,"_5838":5851},{"_148":7631,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5812,"_5838":7605},{"_148":7630,"_5834":5843,"_5836":5844,"_5838":5845},{"_148":7628,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5840,"_5838":7629},{"_148":7627,"_5834":5835,"_5836":5837,"_5838":3788},"gid://shopify/Metafield/97411344728305","gid://shopify/Metafield/97411344761073","{\"scale_min\":\"1.0\",\"scale_max\":\"5.0\",\"value\":\"4.0\"}","gid://shopify/Metafield/58182738116849","gid://shopify/Metafield/58182735298801","gid://shopify/Metafield/58182737953009","gid://shopify/Metafield/58182736576753","1144604429","gid://shopify/Metafield/58182738510065","The-Finest-Hotel-in-Kabul/Lyse-Doucet","gid://shopify/Metafield/58353224745201","[{\"id\":\"127753559T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"A NATIONAL BESTSELLER
WINNER OF THE 2026 WOMEN'S PRIZE FOR NON-FICTION
WINNER OF THE 2026 RAKUTEN KOBO EMERGING WRITER PRIZE FOR NON-FICTION
INSTANT SUNDAY TIMES BESTSELLER
LONGLISTED FOR THE 2025 BAILLIE GIFFORD PRIZE FOR NON-FICTION
A NPR BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR

PRAISE FOR THE FINEST HOTEL IN KABUL:

“The Finest Hotel in Kabul plays to all Lyse Doucet’s strengths. Clarity, empathy, depth of knowledge and innate grasp of fine detail. Her subject is not just a hotel, but a hotel that tells the story of four decades of Afghanistan's proud and sometimes unbelievably painful history. This is a most readable account of joy, despair and resilience in one of the world’s most fascinating countries.” —Michael Palin, actor, comedian, and bestselling author of Erebus

“Lyse Doucet has turned bricks and mortar into flesh and blood and in so doing lifted this biography of a glittering hotel into a lyrical, devastating, powerful homage to the powerless. In The Finest Hotel in Kabul we follow the fortunes and misfortunes not of those making decisions, but of the cooks, the receptionists, the wedding guests, the servers. It is intimate, aching, tragic and inspiring. When I began this book I had Afghanistan in my head. By the time I finished it was in my heart. Doucet’s descriptions are glorious, her use of language evocative. Her people are fully formed, alive and breathing. This is a thrilling achievement, a beautiful book. I’m off to re-read it. To revisit the finest hotel in Kabul!” —Louise Penny, bestselling author of the Chief Inspector Armand Gamache series

“An incredible book—vivid and beautifully written, it captures the soul of Afghanistan through an age of hopes and heartbreak, as well as one of constant change. A tender, wise and quietly devastating book.” —Peter Frankopan, author of The Silk Roads

“A book brimming with deep insight, courage and conscience. Everyone should read this. Astonishingly beautiful, subtle and simply unforgettable.” —Elif Shafak, author of There Are Rivers in the Sky

“A story of a country and a people, told with knowledge, insight and tenderness. I’ve been waiting for a Lyse Doucet book for a long time and what she has produced here is testament to her humanity as well as her journalistic eye.” —Mishal Husain, Sunday Times bestselling author of Broken Threads

“If you want to know the story of Afghanistan, of its people, its passion, its betrayals and ancient traditions, read this book. Lyse Doucet has written this amazing story, the same way she reports for the BBC from trouble spots around the world, with accuracy and splendid attention to detail, with excitement and hard truths. But above all she goes behind the political scenes to the people who frequent or work at The Finest Hotel in Kabul and brings us a story rich in intrigue and history. The princes and kings and wannabe deal makers have come and gone from this country that can’t keep itself out of the news. But the hotel desk manager knows what most of the world missed; Lyse Doucet chronicles that tale, and with an abiding faith in the Afghan people, sings a song of love throughout this remarkable book.” —Sally Armstrong, award winning author, journalist and human rights activist

“The Finest Hotel in Kabul offers an unflinching and intimate portrait of contemporary Afghanistan, from the hopeful days following the fall of the Taliban’s first regime to the chilling return of fear under their second rule. At the heart of the story is a woman who prepares food with her hands, yet in doing so, is quietly shaping the future. As the Taliban return, laughter fades, and like thousands of other women, she is pushed to the margins. This book is a powerful historical account of lives lived in the crossfire of conflict and power, a story too rarely heard, and too often overlooked. Broken promises of peace for a people who have lived, generation after generation, in the shadow of war and politics.” —Zahra Joya, founder of Rukhshana Media

“As with the voice, so with the book: distinct, original, humane, powerful and utterly compelling.” —Philippe Sands, author of East West Street

“What a beautiful book—inventive, compassionate, witty, brilliantly structured. An extraordinary introduction to Afghanistan, and a tribute to one of the finest correspondents of our age.” —Rory Stewart, author of Politics On the Edge and The Places in Between

“An ingenious method of storytelling, and what a story the Inter-Continental Kabul has to tell. Lyse Doucet writes with verve and insight, and a clear warmth of feeling for Afghanistan and its people.” —Kamila Shamsie, author of Home Fire

“Inside The Finest Hotel in Kabul beats the heart of Afghanistan. Lyse Doucet, who reveals herself as a master storyteller, welcomes us to Kabul’s iconic Inter-Continental hotel. . . . She gently places us in the care of the many Afghans, on whose shoulders The Finest Hotel in Kabul rests, and it’s through the beauty of her writing that we discover the very soul of Afghans. . . . The depth of Lyse’s knowledge, and the power of her writing reveals a country many have seen, but few truly know.” —Kathy Gannon, Canadian journalist and author of I is for Infidel

“This extraordinary history of modern Afghanistan is told from the inside-out, through the lives of everyday workers at a landmark hotel. . . . The Finest Hotel in Kabul is a quiet masterpiece of literary nonfiction. It is one of those rare books written out of deep love and an unwavering commitment to complexity. After decades of building trust and listening closely, Doucet brings to vivid, complicated life a place that otherwise risks being a news headline at best, at worst an abstraction.” —2026 Rakuten Kobo Emerging Writer Prize for Non-Fiction Jury citation

“A deeply humane story of Afghanistan revealing the impact of decades of upheaval on everyday lives.” —Judges of the Baillie Gifford Prize for Non-Fiction

“[The Finest Hotel in Kabul] is a history less political than human, one that brings both clarity and emotional resonance to a nation too often reduced to tragic headlines and geopolitics.” —The Globe and Mail

“Drawing on her more than 30 years of reporting from that country, it is a captivating debut in which Doucet gives herself only a tiny walk-on part. Instead, she centres the lives and recollections of those who have worked at Kabul’s renowned Inter-Continental Hotel across five decades . . . The Finest Hotel in Kabul concludes in a spirit of enduring optimism, or at least with the inshallah tenacity that seems to characterise the Afghan people.” —The Bookseller, Book of the Month

\\\"Fabulous . . . A cross between the novel A Gentleman in Moscow and Wes Anderson’s The Grand Budapest Hotel. Doucet has taken the Hotel Inter-Continental on the hill overlooking Afghanistan’s capital and written about the country’s hopes, travails, invasions and civil wars using the people who came through the increasingly battered doors.” —Alice Thomson, The Times

“Lyse Doucet is a consummate storyteller and first class journalist . . . A powerful and evocative account of a people who have borne tumultuous waves of progress and repression, from mini skirts and white weddings to burqas and gross Taliban denials of freedoms. A brilliant and important reminder of the cost of wars.” —Helena Kennedy

“The Finest Hotel in Kabul tells the story of Afghanistan through the Hotel Inter-Continental Kabul, a sexy splash of glamour in a poor, mostly illiterate country when it opened in 1969. Afghanistan was a kingdom then and in the years since, the hotel and its staff have seen coups, a Soviet invasion, a Marxist dictatorship, civil war, the Taliban, western invasion and occupation, the Taliban again. Doucet, the BBC’s chief international correspondent, does a terrific, novelistic job of telling the story of the people who’ve worked there and what this tumultuous change has meant for them.” ―Robbie Millen, The Times

“Doucet is a must-watch, always alive to the personal stories and tribulations of the people she encounters. But is she a must-read? On the evidence of The Finest Hotel in Kabul . . . the answer must be a resounding yes . . . Doucet is a consummate storyteller who can recognise a great yarn when she sees one and the real strength of this book is her ability to get under the skin of a country through its people. . . . Haunting, hopeful and occasionally harrowing, The Finest Hotel in Kabul is much more than a history. It is a love letter to Afghanistan and its people.” —The Sunday Times

“Full of warmth, wit, and a lovely eye for the human stories that make the hotel not just a monument to tragedy, but also love and resilience. . . . What Doucet achieves is both powerful and charming at the same time. The Finest Hotel in Kabul is a meditation on memory, resilience, and the strange intimacy of public spaces. In an age when most hotels blur into the anonymous comfort of global chains, the Inter-Con reminds us that some buildings are so much more.”
—The Financial Times

“It is difficult to think of anyone as well qualified to write a book about the hotel as Doucet. It is not just that she has been a regular visitor there since 1988. It's also that she has an extraordinary sensitivity to the experiences of individuals, no matter their station . . . the book is rich in detail, moving and never wearisome.” —Literary Review

“The history of [Doucet's] ‘first Afghan home’—Kabul’s Intercontinental Hotel—through the eyes of its staff, men and women, young and old, whose personal tales encapsulate those of a whole nation. . . . Rich in evocative detail after countless hours of interviews, including with people who worked there from the start.” ―iPAPER

“The Finest Hotel in Kabul reads like a tender love letter. . . . [it] captures Afghanistan’s indomitable spirit through a monument that is still standing, adapting to change and defying peril while holding onto its legacy.” —Policy Magazine\"},{\"id\":\"132225770T\",\"type\":\"Review\",\"linkText\":\"From The Critics\",\"typeId\":\"1002\",\"abbr\":\"REV\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"255\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"From the Publisher\",\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"A NATIONAL BESTSELLER
WINNER OF THE 2026 WOMEN'S PRIZE FOR NON-FICTION
WINNER OF THE 2026 RAKUTEN KOBO EMERGING WRITER PRIZE FOR NON-FICTION
INSTANT SUNDAY TIMES BESTSELLER
LONGLISTED FOR THE 2025 BAILLIE GIFFORD PRIZE FOR NON-FICTION
A NPR BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR

PRAISE FOR THE FINEST HOTEL IN KABUL

\\\"The Finest Hotel in Kabul plays to all Lyse Doucet's strengths. Clarity, empathy, depth of knowledge and innate grasp of fine detail. Her subject is not just a hotel, but a hotel that tells the story of four decades of Afghanistan's proud and sometimes unbelievably painful history. This is a most readable account of joy, despair and resilience in one of the world's most fascinating countries.\\\" --Michael Palin, actor, comedian, and bestselling author of Erebus

\\\"Lyse Doucet has turned bricks and mortar into flesh and blood and in so doing lifted this biography of a glittering hotel into a lyrical, devastating, powerful homage to the powerless. In The Finest Hotel in Kabul we follow the fortunes and misfortunes not of those making decisions, but of the cooks, the receptionists, the wedding guests, the servers. It is intimate, aching, tragic and inspiring. When I began this book I had Afghanistan in my head. By the time I finished it was in my heart. Doucet's descriptions are glorious, her use of language evocative. Her people are fully formed, alive and breathing. This is a thrilling achievement, a beautiful book. I'm off to re-read it. To revisit the finest hotel in Kabul!\\\" --Louise Penny, bestselling author of the Chief Inspector Armand Gamache series

\\\"An incredible book--vivid and beautifully written, it captures the soul of Afghanistan through an age of hopes and heartbreak, as well as one of constant change. A tender, wise and quietly devastating book.\\\" --Peter Frankopan, author of The Silk Roads

\\\"A book brimming with deep insight, courage and conscience. Everyone should read this. Astonishingly beautiful, subtle and simply unforgettable.\\\" --Elif Shafak, author of There Are Rivers in the Sky

\\\"A story of a country and a people, told with knowledge, insight and tenderness. I've been waiting for a Lyse Doucet book for a long time and what she has produced here is testament to her humanity as well as her journalistic eye.\\\" --Mishal Husain, Sunday Times bestselling author of Broken Threads

\\\"If you want to know the story of Afghanistan, of its people, its passion, its betrayals and ancient traditions, read this book. Lyse Doucet has written this amazing story, the same way she reports for the BBC from trouble spots around the world, with accuracy and splendid attention to detail, with excitement and hard truths. But above all she goes behind the political scenes to the people who frequent or work at The Finest Hotel in Kabul and brings us a story rich in intrigue and history. The princes and kings and wannabe deal makers have come and gone from this country that can't keep itself out of the news. But the hotel desk manager knows what most of the world missed; Lyse Doucet chronicles that tale, and with an abiding faith in the Afghan people, sings a song of love throughout this remarkable book.\\\" --Sally Armstrong, award winning author, journalist and human rights activist

\\\"The Finest Hotel in Kabul offers an unflinching and intimate portrait of contemporary Afghanistan, from the hopeful days following the fall of the Taliban's first regime to the chilling return of fear under their second rule. At the heart of the story is a woman who prepares food with her hands, yet in doing so, is quietly shaping the future. As the Taliban return, laughter fades, and like thousands of other women, she is pushed to the margins. This book is a powerful historical account of lives lived in the crossfire of conflict and power, a story too rarely heard, and too often overlooked. Broken promises of peace for a people who have lived, generation after generation, in the shadow of war and politics.\\\" --Zahra Joya, founder of Rukhshana Media

\\\"As with the voice, so with the book: distinct, original, humane, powerful and utterly compelling.\\\" --Philippe Sands, author of East West Street

\\\"What a beautiful book--inventive, compassionate, witty, brilliantly structured. An extraordinary introduction to Afghanistan, and a tribute to one of the finest correspondents of our age.\\\" --Rory Stewart, author of Politics On the Edge and The Places in Between

\\\"An ingenious method of storytelling, and what a story the Inter-Continental Kabul has to tell. Lyse Doucet writes with verve and insight, and a clear warmth of feeling for Afghanistan and its people.\\\" --Kamila Shamsie, author of Home Fire

\\\"Inside The Finest Hotel in Kabul beats the heart of Afghanistan. Lyse Doucet, who reveals herself as a master storyteller, welcomes us to Kabul's iconic Inter-Continental hotel. . . . She gently places us in the care of the many Afghans, on whose shoulders The Finest Hotel in Kabul rests, and it's through the beauty of her writing that we discover the very soul of Afghans. . . . The depth of Lyse's knowledge, and the power of her writing reveals a country many have seen, but few truly know.\\\" --Kathy Gannon, Canadian journalist and author of I is for Infidel

\\\"This extraordinary history of modern Afghanistan is told from the inside-out, through the lives of everyday workers at a landmark hotel. . . . The Finest Hotel in Kabul is a quiet masterpiece of literary nonfiction. It is one of those rare books written out of deep love and an unwavering commitment to complexity. After decades of building trust and listening closely, Doucet brings to vivid, complicated life a place that otherwise risks being a news headline at best, at worst an abstraction.\\\" --2026 Rakuten Kobo Emerging Writer Prize for Non-Fiction Jury citation

\\\"A deeply humane story of Afghanistan revealing the impact of decades of upheaval on everyday lives.\\\" --Judges of the Baillie Gifford Prize for Non-Fiction

\\\"[The Finest Hotel in Kabul] is a history less political than human, one that brings both clarity and emotional resonance to a nation too often reduced to tragic headlines and geopolitics.\\\" --The Globe and Mail

\\\"Drawing on her more than 30 years of reporting from that country, it is a captivating debut in which Doucet gives herself only a tiny walk-on part. Instead, she centres the lives and recollections of those who have worked at Kabul's renowned Inter-Continental Hotel across five decades . . . The Finest Hotel in Kabul concludes in a spirit of enduring optimism, or at least with the inshallah tenacity that seems to characterise the Afghan people.\\\" --The Bookseller, Book of the Month

\\\"Fabulous . . . A cross between the novel A Gentleman in Moscow and Wes Anderson's The Grand Budapest Hotel. Doucet has taken the Hotel Inter-Continental on the hill overlooking Afghanistan's capital and written about the country's hopes, travails, invasions and civil wars using the people who came through the increasingly battered doors.\\\" --Alice Thomson, The Times

\\\"Lyse Doucet is a consummate storyteller and first class journalist . . . A powerful and evocative account of a people who have borne tumultuous waves of progress and repression, from mini skirts and white weddings to burqas and gross Taliban denials of freedoms. A brilliant and important reminder of the cost of wars.\\\" --Helena Kennedy

\\\"The Finest Hotel in Kabul tells the story of Afghanistan through the Hotel Inter-Continental Kabul, a sexy splash of glamour in a poor, mostly illiterate country when it opened in 1969. Afghanistan was a kingdom then and in the years since, the hotel and its staff have seen coups, a Soviet invasion, a Marxist dictatorship, civil war, the Taliban, western invasion and occupation, the Taliban again. Doucet, the BBC's chief international correspondent, does a terrific, novelistic job of telling the story of the people who've worked there and what this tumultuous change has meant for them.\\\" ―Robbie Millen, The Times

\\\"Doucet is a must-watch, always alive to the personal stories and tribulations of the people she encounters. But is she a must-read? On the evidence of The Finest Hotel in Kabul . . . the answer must be a resounding yes . . . Doucet is a consummate storyteller who can recognise a great yarn when she sees one and the real strength of this book is her ability to get under the skin of a country through its people. . . . Haunting, hopeful and occasionally harrowing, The Finest Hotel in Kabul is much more than a history. It is a love letter to Afghanistan and its people.\\\" --The Sunday Times

\\\"Full of warmth, wit, and a lovely eye for the human stories that make the hotel not just a monument to tragedy, but also love and resilience. . . . What Doucet achieves is both powerful and charming at the same time. The Finest Hotel in Kabul is a meditation on memory, resilience, and the strange intimacy of public spaces. In an age when most hotels blur into the anonymous comfort of global chains, the Inter-Con reminds us that some buildings are so much more.\\\"
--The Financial Times

\\\"It is difficult to think of anyone as well qualified to write a book about the hotel as Doucet. It is not just that she has been a regular visitor there since 1988. It's also that she has an extraordinary sensitivity to the experiences of individuals, no matter their station . . . the book is rich in detail, moving and never wearisome.\\\" --Literary Review

\\\"The history of [Doucet's] 'first Afghan home'--Kabul's Intercontinental Hotel--through the eyes of its staff, men and women, young and old, whose personal tales encapsulate those of a whole nation. . . . Rich in evocative detail after countless hours of interviews, including with people who worked there from the start.\\\" ―iPAPER

\\\"The Finest Hotel in Kabul reads like a tender love letter. . . . [it] captures Afghanistan's indomitable spirit through a monument that is still standing, adapting to change and defying peril while holding onto its legacy.\\\" --Policy Magazine\"},{\"id\":\"127753566T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

Founded in 1969, the halls of the Inter-Continental Kabul are rich in history. Lyse Doucet takes readers through every inch of Afghanistan’s first luxury hotel by detailing the inspiring, hopeful and sometimes tragic lives of those who work, visit and live there.

\"},{\"id\":\"123677934T\",\"type\":\"Bookseller Content\",\"linkText\":\"B&N Says\",\"typeId\":\"1027\",\"abbr\":\"BSC\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"Notes From Your Bookseller

\"},{\"id\":\"127753569T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"1\",\"text\":\"

LYSE DOUCET is a Canadian journalist and the BBC's Chief International Correspondent. In the course of a career spanning four decades, she has reported from countries around the world and was based as a correspondent in Jerusalem, Amman, Islamabad, Kabul, and Abidjan. She has played a leading role in the BBC's coverage of major events including the recent Iran-Israel war, the Gaza war, the Arab Spring, and the US-led invasion of Afghanistan. She received an OBE in the Queen's Honours list in 2014, and was admitted to the Order of Canada in 2019. She has received many awards, including most recently the 2024 Zenger Award for Press Freedom from the University of Arizona and the 2019 Trailblazer Award from Georgetown University. She was a recipient of the Colombia School of Journalism Award in 2016, an Emmy in 2014 for her team’s reporting from Syria, Peabody and David Bloom Awards for her work from Syria and Afghanistan, and an Edward R. Murrow award for her team’s reporting from Tunisia. In 2021, she was nominated for a Peabody for her work as a writer and reporter on the BBC podcast Afghanistan: Documenting A Crucial Year. Doucet has eighteen honorary doctorates from leading British and Canadian Universities. She has a Master’s degree in International Relations from the University of Toronto, and a BA Hons. from Queen’s University in Kingston. She is also a senior fellow of Massey College of the University of Toronto. Doucet has been reporting on Afghanistan since 1988. She visits the Inter-Continental whenever she is in Kabul.

\"},{\"id\":\"117707919T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"2\",\"text\":\"

\"},{\"id\":\"127753570T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":null,\"displayOrder\":\"3\",\"text\":\"LYSE DOUCET is a Canadian-born journalist and the BBC's Chief International Correspondent. In the course of a career spanning four decades, she has reported from countries including Egypt, Iran, Iraq, Israel, and Syria, leading the BBC's coverage of events including the invasion of Afghanistan, the Arab Spring, and the Syrian Civil War. She received an OBE in the Queen's Honours list in 2014, and was admitted to the Order of Canada in 2019. Her awards include the Columbia School of Journalism Award in 2016 and an Emmy in 2014 for her team's reporting from Syria. In 2021, she was nominated for a Peabody Award for her work as a writer and reporter on the BBC podcast Afghanistan: Documenting A Crucial Year. Doucet has fifteen honorary doctorates from leading British and Canadian Universities. She has a Master’s degree in International Relations from the University of Toronto, and a BA Hons. from Queen’s University in Kingston. She is also a senior fellow of Massey College of the University of Toronto. Doucet has been reporting on Afghanistan since 1988. She visits the Inter-Continental whenever she is in Kabul.\"},{\"id\":\"133705363T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"4\",\"text\":\"

\"},{\"id\":\"127753572T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"5\",\"text\":\"LYSE DOUCET is a Canadian journalist and the BBC's Chief International Correspondent. In the course of a career spanning four decades, she has reported from countries around the world and was based as a correspondent in Jerusalem, Amman, Islamabad, Kabul, and Abidjan. She has played a leading role in the BBC's coverage of major events including the recent Iran-Israel war, the Gaza war, the Arab Spring, and the US-led invasion of Afghanistan. She received an OBE in the Queen's Honours list in 2014, and was admitted to the Order of Canada in 2019. She has received many awards, including most recently the 2024 Zenger Award for Press Freedom from the University of Arizona and the 2019 Trailblazer Award from Georgetown University. She was a recipient of the Colombia School of Journalism Award in 2016, an Emmy in 2014 for her team’s reporting from Syria, Peabody and David Bloom Awards for her work from Syria and Afghanistan, and an Edward R. Murrow award for her team’s reporting from Tunisia. In 2021, she was nominated for a Peabody for her work as a writer and reporter on the BBC podcast Afghanistan: Documenting A Crucial Year. Doucet has eighteen honorary doctorates from leading British and Canadian Universities. She has a Master’s degree in International Relations from the University of Toronto, and a BA Hons. from Queen’s University in Kingston. She is also a senior fellow of Massey College of the University of Toronto. Doucet has been reporting on Afghanistan since 1988. She visits the Inter-Continental whenever she is in Kabul.\"},{\"id\":\"134217126T\",\"type\":\"Fatbrain Author Description\",\"linkText\":\"Author Description\",\"typeId\":\"1102\",\"abbr\":\"FBA\",\"maxToDisplay\":\"1\",\"authorName\":null,\"sourceName\":\"PAPERBACK COMMENTARY\",\"displayOrder\":\"6\",\"text\":\"

LYSE DOUCET is a Canadian journalist and the BBC's Chief International Correspondent. In the course of a career spanning four decades, she has reported from countries around the world and was based as a correspondent in Jerusalem, Amman, Islamabad, Kabul, and Abidjan. She has played a leading role in the BBC's coverage of major events including the recent Iran-Israel war, the Gaza war, the Arab Spring, and the US-led invasion of Afghanistan. She received an OBE in the Queen's Honours list in 2014, and was admitted to the Order of Canada in 2019. She has received many awards, including most recently the 2024 Zenger Award for Press Freedom from the University of Arizona and the 2019 Trailblazer Award from Georgetown University. She was a recipient of the Colombia School of Journalism Award in 2016, an Emmy in 2014 for her team's reporting from Syria, Peabody and David Bloom Awards for her work from Syria and Afghanistan, and an Edward R. Murrow award for her team's reporting from Tunisia. In 2021, she was nominated for a Peabody for her work as a writer and reporter on the BBC podcast Afghanistan: Documenting A Crucial Year. Doucet has eighteen honorary doctorates from leading British and Canadian Universities. She has a Master's degree in International Relations from the University of Toronto, and a BA Hons. from Queen's University in Kingston. She is also a senior fellow of Massey College of the University of Toronto. Doucet has been reporting on Afghanistan since 1988. She visits the Inter-Continental whenever she is in Kabul.

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