Hard-Hitting Nonfiction I Read for #NovNov24: Hammad, Horvilleur, Houston & Solnit
I often play it safe with my nonfiction reading, choosing books about known and loved topics or ones that I expect to comfort me or reinforce my own opinions rather than challenge me. I wasn’t sure if I could bear to read about Israel/Palestine, or sexual violence towards women, but these four works were all worthwhile – even if they provoked many an involuntary gasp of horror (and mild expletives).
Recognising the Stranger: On Palestine and Narrative by Isabella Hammad (2024)
This is the text of the Edward W. Said Memorial Lecture that Hammad delivered at Columbia University on September 28, 2023. She posits that, in a time of crisis, storytelling can be a way of finding things out. Characters’ epiphanies, from Oedipus onward, see them encountering an Other but learning something about themselves in the process. In turning her great-grandfather’s life into her first novel, The Parisian, Hammad knew she had to avoid the pitfalls of nostalgia and unreliable memory. Fiction is always subjective, a matter of perspectives, and history is too. Sometimes the turning points will only be understood retrospectively.
Edward Said (1935–2003) was a Palestinian American academic and theorist who helped found the field of postcolonial studies. Hammad writes that, for him, being Palestinian was “a condition of chronic exile.” She takes his humanist ideology as a model of how to “dismantle the consoling fictions of fixed identity, which make it easier to herd into groups.” About half of the lecture is devoted to the Israel/Palestine situation. She recalls meeting an Israeli army deserter a decade ago who told her how a naked Palestinian man holding the photograph of a child had approached his Gaza checkpoint; instead of shooting the man in the leg as ordered, he fled. It shouldn’t take such epiphanies to get Israelis to recognize Palestinians as human, but Hammad acknowledges the challenge in a “militarized society” of “state propaganda.”
This was, for me, more appealing than Hammad’s Enter Ghost. Though the essay might be better aloud as originally intended, I found it fluent and convincing. It was, however, destined to date quickly. Less than two weeks later, on October 7, there was a horrific Hamas attack on Israel (see Horvilleur, below). The print version of the lecture includes an afterword written in the wake of the destruction of Gaza. Hammad does not address October 7 directly, which seems fair (Hamas ≠ Palestine). Her language is emotive and forceful. She refers to “settler colonialism and ethnic cleansing” and rejects the argument that it is a question of self-defence for Israel – that would require “a fight between two equal sides,” which this absolutely is not. Rather, it is an example of genocide, supported by other powerful nations.
The present onslaught leaves no space for mourning
To remain human at this juncture is to remain in agony
It will be easy to say, in hindsight, what a terrible thing
The Israeli government would like to destroy Palestine, but they are mistaken if they think this is really possible … they can never complete the process, because they cannot kill us all.
(Read via Edelweiss) [84 pages] ![]()
How Isn’t It Going? Conversations after October 7 by Delphine Horvilleur (2025)
[Translated from the French by Lisa Appignanesi]
Horvilleur is one of just five female rabbis in France and is the leader of the country’s Liberal Jewish Movement. Earlier this year, I reviewed her essay collection Living with Our Dead, about attitudes toward death as illustrated by her family history, Jewish traditions and teachings, and funerals she has conducted. It is important to note that she expresses sorrow for Palestinians’ situation and mentions that she has always favoured a two-state solution. Moreover, she echoes Hammad with her final line, which hopes for “a future for those who think of the other, for those who engage in dialogue one with another, and with the humanity within them.” However, this is a lament for the Jewish condition, and a warning of the continuing and insidious nature of antisemitism. Who am I to judge her lived experience and say, “she’s being paranoid” or “it’s not really like that”? My job as reader is simply to listen.
There is by turns a stream of consciousness or folktale quality to the narrative as Horvilleur enacts 11 dialogues – some real and others imagined – with her late grandparents, her children, or even abstractions (“Conversation with My Pain,” “Conversation with the Messiah”). She draws on history, scripture and her own life, wrestling with the kinds of thoughts that come to her during insomniac early mornings. It’s not all mourning; there is sometimes a wry sense of humour that feels very Jewish. While it was harder for me to relate to the point of view here, I admired the author for writing from her own ache and tracing the repeated themes of exile and persecution. It felt important to respect and engage. [125 pages] ![]()
With thanks to Europa Editions for the advanced e-copy for review.
Without Exception: Reclaiming Abortion, Personhood, and Freedom by Pam Houston (2024)
If you’re going to read a polemic, make sure it’s as elegantly written and expertly argued as this one. Houston responds to the overturning of Roe v. Wade with 60 micro-essays – one for each full year of her life – about what it means to be in a female body in a country that seeks to control and systematically devalue women. Roe was in force for 49 years, corresponding almost exactly to her reproductive years. She had three abortions and believes “childlessness might turn out to be the single greatest gift of my life.” Facts could serve as explanations: her grandmother died giving birth to her mother; her mother always said having her ruined her life; she was raped by her father from early childhood until she left home as a young adult; she is gender-fluid; she loves her life of adventure travel, spontaneity and chosen solitude; she adores the natural world and sees how overpopulation threatens it. But none are presented as causes or excuses. Houston is committed to nuance, recognizing individuality of circumstance and the primacy of choice.
Many of the book’s vignettes are autobiographical, but others recount statistics, track American cultural and political shifts, and reprint excerpts from the 2022 joint dissent issued by the Supreme Court. The cycling of topics makes for an exquisite structure. Houston has done extensive research on abortion law and health care for women. A majority of Americans actually support abortion’s legality, and some states have fought back by protecting abortion rights through referenda. (I voted for Maryland’s. I’ve come a long way since my Evangelical, vociferously pro-life high school and college days.) I just love Houston’s work. There are far too many good lines here to quote. She is among my top recommendations of treasured authors you might not know. I’ve read her memoir Deep Creek and her short story collections Cowboys Are My Weakness and Waltzing the Cat, and I’m already sad that I only have four more books to discover. (Read via Edelweiss) [170 pages] ![]()
Men Explain Things to Me by Rebecca Solnit (2014)
Solnit did not coin the term “mansplaining,” but it was created not long after the title essay’s publication in 2008 and was definitely inspired by her depiction of a male know-it-all. She was at a party in Aspen in 2003 when a man decided to tell her all about an important new book he’d heard of about Eadweard Muybridge. A friend had to interrupt him and say, “That’s her book.” A funny story, yes, but illustrative of a certain male arrogance that encourages a woman’s “belief in her superfluity, an invitation to silence” and imagines her “in some sort of obscene impregnation metaphor, an empty vessel to be filled with their wisdom and knowledge.”
This segues perfectly into “The Longest War,” about sexual violence against women, including rape and domestic violence. As in the Houston, there are some absolutely appalling statistics here. Yes, she acknowledges, it’s not all men, and men can be feminist allies, but there is a problem with masculinity when nearly all domestic violence and mass shootings are committed by men. There is a short essay on gay marriage and one (slightly out of place?) about Virginia Woolf’s mental health. The other five repeat some of the same messages about rape culture and believing women, so it is not a wholly classic collection for me, but the first two essays are stunners. (University library) [154 pages] ![]()

Have you read any of these authors? Or something else on these topics?
Thanks for Joining in with Novellas in November! #NovNov24 Statistics
Co-host Cathy and I are delighted that so many of you participated in Novellas in November again this year and helped us to celebrate the art of the short book. We had 46 participants and 173 posts covering more than 150 books.

In total, 16 friends of #NovNov reviewed our buddy read, Orbital by Samantha Harvey, which won the Booker Prize partway through the month.

Other books with multiple reviews included John Boyne’s recent novella series, The Party by Tessa Hadley, various by Claire Keegan, Astraea by Kate Kruimink, and Baron Bagge by Alexander Lernet-Holenia.
The link-up will remain open through Saturday 7 December if you would like to add in any belated reviews (I will certainly be doing so).
See you next November – but keep reading novellas and sharing the love all through the year!
20 Books of Summer 2024 Retrospective
That’s a wrap! It was my seventh year in a row participating. I managed to read and review all 20 books by yesterday. Only eight of the books I earmarked in my plans (plus two more that were DNFs) made it into my final stacks, but I don’t really consider that a problem.

With what I substituted in, I ended up achieving 1 reread and getting through 7 review copies, 3 of which had been languishing in my set-aside piles for a long time. I stuck to my pledge to read only a) books that I owned in hardback and b) books by women. I read roughly half and half fiction and non- (11 vs. 9).
Unfortunately, a lot of my selections this year happened to be lackluster: there were 5 books that I rated at 2.5 stars or below, and another 6 that merited 3 stars. Those 11 make for a pretty low average rating across the 20.
By contrast, I had a few 4-star highlights: Company by Shannon Sanders, Sleeping with Cats by Marge Piercy, and My Good Bright Wolf by Sarah Moss (if anyone in the UK would like my proof copy of this last one, let me know and I’ll post it to you).

It was also fun tying into the Reading the Meow week and connecting reviews with events such as an online conference about Vita Sackville-West and the new album by the Bookshop Band.
I’ve cleared 16 of 23 (including the several DNFs) books from my shelves by reselling them or donating them to my neighbourhood Little Free Library. I’ll surely appreciate that extra space to accommodate the constant stream of incomers.
Next year I think I need to make the challenge even more open, because it seems that as soon as I ‘assign’ myself 20 books, I lose interest in most of them. Again, I want to limit myself to books from my shelves, but I won’t specify anything else. I’ll just let myself pick up whatever interests me at the time – bearing in mind that in the summers I like to indulge in juicy fiction that’s toward the popular end of literary.
How did your summer reading go?
Final Reading Statistics for 2023
In 2022 my reading total dipped to 300, whereas in 2023 I was back up to what seems to be my natural limit of 340 books (as 2019–21 also proved).

The statistics
Fiction: 52.1%
Nonfiction: 31.2%
Poetry: 16.8%
(Poetry is up by nearly 3% and fiction and nonfiction down by a percent or so each compared to last year. I attribute this to specializing in poetry reviews for Shelf Awareness.)
Female author: 69.7%
Male author: 27.6%
Nonbinary author: 2.1%
Multiple genders (anthologies): 0.6%
(I always read more from women than from men, but was surprised to see that the percentage by men rose by 4.6% last year.)
BIPOC author: 22.4%
(The third time I have specifically tracked this figure. I’m pleased that it’s increased year on year: 18.5%, then 20.7%. I will continue to aim at 25% or more.)
LGBTQ: 18.2%
(This is a new category for me. I define it by the identity of the author and/or a major theme in the work; just having a secondary character who is gay wouldn’t count. I retrospectively looked at 2021 and 2022, which would have been at 11.8% and 8.8%.)
Work in translation: 10.6%!
(I’m delighted with this figure because the past two years were at just 5% and 8.7% and my aim was to be close to 10%. Most popular languages: Spanish (10), French (9) and Swedish (4); German (3), Italian (3), Danish (2), Dutch (2), Korean (1), Polish (1) and Welsh (1) were also represented.)
Backlist: 55.3%
2023 (or 2024 pre-release) books: 44.7%
(This is not too bad, although 17.9% of the ‘backlist’ stuff was from 2021 or 2022, so fairly recent releases I was catching up on from review copies, the library or in e-book form. My oldest reads were both from 1897, Liza of Lambeth by W. Somerset Maugham and De Profundis by Oscar Wilde.)
E-books: 27.4%
Print books: 72.6%
(On par with last year. I almost exclusively read e-books for BookBrowse, Foreword and Shelf Awareness reviews.)
Rereads: 9
(Compared to 12 each of the past two years; at least one per month would be a good aim.)
Where my books came from for the whole year, compared to last year:
- Free print or e-copy from publisher: 43.5% (↑1.5%)
- Public library: 24.1% (↓5.9%)
- Secondhand purchase: 10% (↑3.3%)
- Downloaded from NetGalley or Edelweiss: 6.8% (↓0.2%)
- Free (giveaways, Little Free Library/free bookshop, from friends or neighbours): 5.9% (↑3.3%)
- Gifts: 4.1% (↑0.1%)
- University library: 3.2% (↑0.9%)
- New purchase (often at a bargain price): 2.1% (↓2.6%)
- Borrowed: 0.3% (↓0.4%)
So nearly a quarter of my reading (22.1%) was from my own shelves. I’d like to make it more like 33–50%, achieved by a drop in review copies rather than library borrowing.
Additional statistics courtesy of Goodreads:
73,861 pages read
Average book length: 217 pages (down from 225 last year; thank you, novellas and poetry)
Average rating for 2022: 3.6 (identical to last year)
Long Live the NHS! Free for All by Gavin Francis
Dr Gavin Francis’s Intensive Care is the definitive Covid-19 read for me, and I admired his follow-up, Recovery, a personal and general history of convalescence. Free for All is most similar to the latter: a short book, impassioned and practical, that demands a social safety net.
The UK’s National Health Service was established 75 years ago this summer, with the aim of making healthcare free at the point of use for everyone, funded not by charity but by taxation. Today, the NHS is limping along from crisis to crisis (every winter, basically) because it has been chronically underfunded. Any UK-based reader could tell their own story of ridiculous wait times*, I suspect.
Francis makes it clear that the governing party of the last 13 years bears the responsibility for this. The UK’s healthcare spending is lower than that of key European benchmark nations that have better health outcomes. The Conservatives’ goal seems to be to privatize health and focus on market demand. Francis argues powerfully that allowing healthcare to be driven by profit, as it is in the USA, is immoral and uncivilized.

His valuable perspective is that of a GP who has to pick up the slack in his clinics and is begged not to send any but the most desperate cases to overcrowded hospitals. Services are strained to the breaking point; private medicine, far from lessening the burden, increases it when patients revert to the NHS for follow-up care or repair of botched procedures. Meanwhile, the introduction of performance standards can divert doctors’ attention to ticking boxes and ensuring value for money rather than providing the best possible care. Overtreatment (mostly of the elderly) is another potential pitfall.
Francis elaborates his case through his work with anonymized patients, conversations with fellow medical professionals, and a frank look at the statistics on spending and achievements. The book is slightly dry compared to some of his earlier work, simply because of the subject matter, and I noticed a bit of repetition. However, it is still a concise and cogent manifesto. The author believes that people can show they value the NHS by electing politicians who will properly fund it. The NHS is, after all, “an expression of what’s best in our society” and “worth saving,” he concludes. Hear hear!
With thanks to Profile Books/Wellcome Collection for the free copy for review.
Buy Free for All from Bookshop UK. [affiliate link]
*Mine? I waited 12 months for a PHONE consultation with an ear, nose and throat specialist regarding tinnitus. By that point, of course, my problem had largely subsided.
Final Reading Statistics for 2022
What with Covid ruining the holidays and a cat who’s been to the vet twice in two days, I’m wishing 2022 good riddance. (The only good thing the end of the year brought is a visit from my sister, who hadn’t been to the UK in 15.5 years. After a few cautionary days at a hotel in London, she’s been staying with us and enjoying the slower pace of life of these quiet, rainy days.) It was still a good reading year for me, though; I worried my total might plummet after my mom’s passing, but I found I read as much as ever, just maybe shorter books and more rereads. Late in the year I realized matching the previous three years’ total of 340 books wasn’t going to happen, so reduced my goal accordingly and managed to surpass it yesterday.

How I did with my 2022 goals
My goal for 2022 (which I had completely forgotten about!) was to read mostly backlist books. In fact, I read 44.9% current-year releases, which means 55.1% older material – even if just 2021 or 2020 releases. This is actually higher than my 41.8% new releases last year, so it looks like I failed to live up to the letter of my resolution, but still happened to read well over half “older” books.
Once again, my initial goal for the new year will be to get through all my set-aside books and my review backlog shelf. After that … I’ll just read some books and hope to enjoy them.
The statistics
Fiction: 53.3%
Nonfiction: 33%
Poetry: 13.7%
(Fiction and nonfiction are usually just about equal for me; I’m surprised that fiction pulled well ahead this year. I read a bit less poetry this year than last.)
Female author: 72.3%
Male author: 23%
Nonbinary author: 1.7%
Multiple genders (anthologies): 3%
(I’ve been reading more and more by women each year, but this is the first time that female + nonbinary authors have outnumbered men by more than 3:1.)
BIPOC author: 20.7%
(The second time I have specifically tracked this figure. I’m pleased that it’s higher than last year’s 18.5%, but will continue to work towards 25% or more.)
Work in translation: 8.7%
(Better than last year’s 5%! But I’d still like to get closer to 10%.)
E-books: 26.3%
Print books: 73.7%
(The number of e-books has doubled since last year because of my increase in reviewing for Kirkus and Shelf Awareness, for which I exclusively read e-books.)
Rereads: 12 (3.5%)
(The same number as last year, so one per month seems to be what I naturally gravitate towards. I have a whole shelf of books I’d love to reread, though, so I’d like it to be more like 2–3 a month.)
Where my books came from for the whole year, compared to last year:
- Free print or e-copy from publisher: 42% (↑10.2%)
- Public library: 30% (↑5.3%)
- Downloaded from NetGalley or Edelweiss: 7% (↑1.1%)
- Secondhand purchase: 6.7% (↓10.1%)
- New purchase (sometimes) at a bargain price): 4.7% (↓0.9%)
- Gifts: 4% (↑2%)
- Free (giveaways, The Book Thing of Baltimore, the free mall bookshop, etc.): 2.6% (↓6.7%)
- University library: 2.3% (↓1.5%)
- Borrowed: 0.7% (↑0.7%)
Additional statistics courtesy of Goodreads:
67,899 pages read
Average book length: 225 pages
Average rating for 2022: 3.6
Happy new year!
Novellas in November 2022: That’s a Wrap!
This was Cathy’s and my third year co-hosting Novellas in November. We’ve done our best keeping up with your posts, which Cathy has collected as links on her master post.

The challenge seemed doomed at points, what with my bereavement and Cathy catching Covid a second time, but we persisted! At last count, we had 42 bloggers who took part this year, contributing just over 150 posts covering some 170+ books.
Ten of us read our chosen buddy read, Foster by Claire Keegan (with four bloggers reading Keegan’s Small Things Like These also/instead). I’ve gathered the review links here.

Our next most popular novella was a recent release, Maureen [Fry and the Angel of the North] by Rachel Joyce, which was reviewed four times. Other books highlighted more than once were Follow the Rabbit-Proof Fence, Mrs Caliban, The Swimmers, The Time Machine, Winter in Sokcho, Ti Amo, Body Kintsugi, Notes on Grief, and Another Brooklyn.
Thank you all for being so engaged with #NovNov22! We’ll see you back here next year.
Bookish Bits and Bobs
It’s felt like a BIG week for prize news. First we had the Booker Prize longlist, about which I’ve already shared some thoughts. My next selection from it is Trust by Hernan Diaz, which I started reading last night. The shortlist comes out on 6 September. We have our book club shadowing application nearly ready to send off – have your fingers crossed for us!
Then on Friday the three Wainwright Prize shortlists (I gave my reaction to the longlists last month) were announced: one for nature writing, one for conservation writing, and – new this year – one for children’s books on either.

I’m delighted that my top two overall picks, On Gallows Down by Nicola Chester and Silent Earth by Dave Goulson, are still in the running. I’ve read half of the nature list and still intend to read Shadowlands, which is awaiting me at the library. I’d happily read any of the remaining books on the conservation list and have requested the few that my library system owns. Of the children’s nominees, I’m currently a third of the way through Julia and the Shark and also have the Davies out from the library to read.

As if to make up for the recent demise of the Costa Awards, the Folio Prize has decided to split into three categories: fiction, nonfiction and poetry; the three finalists will then go head-to-head to compete for the overall prize. I’ve always wondered how the Folio judges pit such different books against each other. This makes theirs an easier job, I guess?
Speaking of prize judging, I’ve been asked to return as a manuscript judge for the 2023 McKitterick Prize administered by the Society of Authors, the UK trade union for writers. (Since 1990, the McKitterick Prize has been awarded to a debut novelist aged 40+. It’s unique in that it considers unpublished manuscripts as well as published novels – Political Quarterly editor Tom McKitterick, who endowed the Prize, had an unpublished novel at the time of his death.) Although I’d prefer to be assessing ‘real’ books, the fee is welcome. Submissions close in October, and I’ll spend much of November–December on the reading.
Somehow, it’s August. Which means:
- Less than a month left for the remaining 10 of my 20 Books of Summer. I’m actually partway through another 12 books that would be relevant to my flora theme, so I just have to make myself finish and review 10 of them.
- It’s Women in Translation month! I’m currently reading The Last Wild Horses by Maja Lunde and have The Summer Book by Tove Jansson out from the library. I also have review copies of two short novels from Héloïse Press, and have placed a library hold on The Disaster Tourist by Yun Ko-eun. We’ll see how many of these I get to.

Marcie (Buried in Print) and I have embarked on a buddy read of Cloudstreet by Tim Winton. I’ve never read any of his major works and I’m enjoying this so far.
Goodreads, ever so helpfully, tells me I’m currently 37 books behind schedule on my year’s reading challenge. What the website doesn’t know is that, across my shelves and e-readers, I am partway through – literally – about 90 books. So if I could just get my act together to sit down and finish things instead of constantly grabbing for something new, my numbers would look a lot better. Nonetheless, I’ve read loads by anyone’s standard, and will read lots more before the end of the year, so I’m not going to sweat it about the statistics.
A new home has meant fun tasks like unpacking my library (as well as not-so-fun ones like DIY). As a reward for successfully hosting a housewarming party and our first weekend guests, I let myself unbox and organize most of the rest of the books in my new study. My in-laws are bringing us a spare bookcase soon; it’s destined to hold biographies, poetry and short story collections. I thought I’d be able to house all the rest of my life writing and literary reference books on two Billy bookcases, but it’s required some clever horizontal stacks, special ‘displays’ on the top of each case, and, alas, some double-stacking – which I swore I wouldn’t do.
Scotland and Victoriana displays, unread memoirs and literary reference books at left; medical reads display and read memoirs at right.
I need to acquire one more bookcase, a bit narrower than a Billy, to hold the rest of my read fiction plus some overflow travel and humour on the landing.
I get a bit neurotic about how my library is organized, so questions that others wouldn’t give much thought to plague me:
- Should I divide read from unread books?
- Do I hide the less sightly proof copies in a stack behind the rest?
- Is it better to have hardbacks and paperbacks all in one sequence, or separate them to maximize space?
(I’ve employed all of these options for various categories.)
I also have some feature shelves to match particular challenges, like novellas, future seasonal reads, upcoming releases and review books to catch up on, as well as signed copies and recent acquisitions to prioritize. Inevitably, once I’ve arranged everything, I find one or two strays that then don’t fit on the shelves I’ve allotted. Argh! #BibliophileProblems, eh?
I’ve been skimming through The Bookman’s Tale by Ronald Blythe, and this passage from the diary entry “The Bookshelf Cull” stood out to me:
“Should you carry a dozen volumes from one shelf to another, you will most likely be carrying hundreds before you finish. Sequences will be thrown out; titles will have to be regrouped; subjects will demand respect.”
What are your August reading plans? Following any literary prizes?
How are your shelves looking? Are they as regimented as mine, or more random?
This came out in May last year – I pre-ordered it from Waterstones with points I’d saved up, because I’m that much of a fan – and it’s rare for me to reread something so soon, but of course it took on new significance for me this month. Like me, Adichie lived on a different continent from her family and so technology mediated her long-distance relationships. She saw her father on their weekly Sunday Zoom on June 7, 2020 and he appeared briefly on screen the next two days, seeming tired; on June 10, he was gone, her brother’s phone screen showing her his face: “my father looks asleep, his face relaxed, beautiful in repose.”
The first (and so far only) fiction by the poet and 2020 Nobel Prize winner, this is a curious little story that imagines the inner lives of infant twins and closes with their first birthday. Like Ian McEwan’s Nutshell, it ascribes to preverbal beings thoughts and wisdom they could not possibly have. Marigold, the would-be writer of the pair, is spiky and unpredictable, whereas Rose is the archetypal good baby.
A lesser-known Booker Prize winner that we read for our book club’s women’s classics subgroup. My reading was interrupted by the last-minute trip back to the States, so I ended up finishing the last two-thirds after we’d had the discussion and also watched the movie. I found I was better able to engage with the subtle story and understated writing after I’d seen the sumptuous 1983 Merchant Ivory film: the characters jumped out for me much more than they initially had on the page, and it was no problem having Greta Scacchi in my head.
Various writers and artists contributed these graphic shorts, so there are likely to be some stories you enjoy more than others. “The Ghost of Kyiv” is about a mythical hero from the early days of the Russian invasion who shot down six enemy planes in a day. I got Andy Capp vibes from “Looters,” about Russian goons so dumb they don’t even recognize the appliances they haul back to their slum-dwelling families. (Look, this is propaganda. Whether it comes from the right side or not, recognize it for what it is.) In “Zmiinyi Island 13,” Ukrainian missiles destroy a Russian missile cruiser. Though hospitalized, the Ukrainian soldiers involved – including a woman – can rejoice in the win. “A pure heart is one that overcomes fear” is the lesson they quote from a legend. “Brave Little Tractor” is an adorable Thomas the Tank Engine-like story-within-a-story about farm machinery that joins the war effort. A bit too much of the superhero, shoot-’em-up stylings (including perfectly put-together females with pneumatic bosoms) for me here, but how could any graphic novel reader resist this Tokyopop compilation when a portion of proceeds go to RAZOM, a nonprofit Ukrainian-American human rights organization? (Read via Edelweiss)
August looks back on her coming of age in 1970s Bushwick, Brooklyn. She lived with her father and brother in a shabby apartment, but friendship with Angela, Gigi and Sylvia lightened a gloomy existence: “as we stood half circle in the bright school yard, we saw the lost and beautiful and hungry in each of us. We saw home.” As in 
Basics: 11 stories, grouped under 4 mythical locales
Basics: 8 linked stories following 7th-grade teacher Beatrice Hempel through her twenties and thirties
Basics: 18 stories, some of flash fiction length