Caro

I tore through this one, it's such a fast read that "one more chapter" turned into way past midnight (even though these are some long chapters). Rishi shows up at Stanford as this burnt out teenage climate activist who just wants to stop saving the world for five minutes and actually live, study literature, fall in love, mess around. Then COVID empties the campus and she ends up on a farm collective with everyone, and the book turns into this messy tangle of politics and desire and people figuring out what they owe each other. The pandemic setting could have felt gimmicky but it gave the whole thing this trapped, pressure cooker feeling that really worked for me.

What got me most was watching Rishi keep making the exact same mistakes, falling into the same patterns and situationships and never quite learning. Normally that drives me up the wall, but here it felt painfully real instead of annoying, very true to being young and a bit lost. My one tiny gripe is the thing with Georgia, because we never find out what that email says since Rishi just deletes it without reading it, and the nosy part of me really wanted to know. But that's probably the point. Four stars, quick, queer, smart, and stuck with me for days.

Thanks to NetGalley for the ARC

DNF at 30% I could not stand any more of those "questions". Pure r/Im14andthisisdeep

Dead Batteries looks like a post apocalyptic survival story on the surface, but it's really about one mother and her autistic, nonverbal son trying to hold their tiny routine together after a virus wipes out almost everyone. May and Davis live in an abandoned library, and the whole world has narrowed down to scavenging batteries for Davis's old Game Boy. That little lifeline carries so much weight, and Maupin clearly writes it from the inside.

What stayed with me is how honestly the book shows the labor of caring for a kid who can't speak for himself. The mental load, the physical exhaustion, the constant scanning for the next meltdown, none of it ever lets up. As someone neurodivergent myself I found a lot of it painfully familiar, even though Davis's needs are nothing like mine. May carries something that would flatten most people, and the book never turns her into a lesson or a tragedy. She just gets to be tired and scared and fiercely loving.

My one real gripe is that the middle drags. Once Bird turns up with his proposition the pacing slows to a crawl, and that same exhaustion that makes the book powerful starts to feel repetitive on the page. A few things get implied rather than explained too, so I reread some passages and still wasn't sure what happened. The ending won me back though, and it's surprisingly tender. Four stars, and I'll be thinking about May for a while.

Dystopia is my favorite genre, so I really wanted to love this. A climate dome for billionaires on a Greek island, art as propaganda for the end of the world, mass migration in the background. On paper, that's exactly my kind of book. In practice, it never comes together. The premise is doing all the work while the story drifts from one beautiful sentence to the next without ever committing to anything. The satire of wealth and the art world is sharp in places, but the plot it's attached to stays vague: the "deep currents of violence" we're promised never become anything concrete enough to feel dangerous, and the narrator is so passive that I stopped caring what he discovered. His grief, which should be the emotional core, is told more than felt.

Thanks to NetGalley for the ARC

I really liked this book. The whole concept of leaving an instance of yourself behind when you cross a border is one of those sci fi ideas that gets under your skin, because it's not really about the tech at all, it's about identity and the lives we don't get to live. I have to admit the beginning was a bit confusing for me though. With the instances sharing names and the switching between Rose and Soyoung I kept getting lost about who was who, and my brain needed a while to settle into it. Once it clicked I was completely in.
What I loved most was all the philosophy and mythology woven through the story. The book keeps asking what actually makes you yourself, whether the version of you that stayed home is less real than the one who left, and it pulls in Korean folklore and these almost mythic ideas about doubles and souls in a way that felt thoughtful instead of decorative. As someone who has lived between places and identities, the immigration metaphor hit hard. It's such a clever way to literalize that feeling of being split in two by a move.
My only real complaint is the ending. After all that slow careful buildup of tension between Rose and her instance, the last stretch felt rushed, like the book suddenly remembered it had to wrap everything up. I wanted more room to breathe in those final chapters. Still, for a debut novel this is seriously impressive and the ideas have stayed with me since I closed it. If you liked Severance or you enjoy sci fi that is more about people than spaceships, definitely pick this one up.

Thank you to NetGalley for this ARC

Buzzard grabbed me right away. It's 2086, abortion is illegal, corporations track women's fertility, and Mae Bastet, a midwife who helped women who needed care, gets sent to a private prison in the desert run by a paramilitary company called Obsityan. The setup is scary because it doesn't feel far off. The first chunk of the book flew by for me. The most interesting part for me is what comes after the ending. What happens to Mae's sons. What happens to Obsityan. The consequences. That's the book I wanted. Ray finishes in a spot that promises a better story than the one she told. A sequel or even one extra chapter would have changed my whole feeling about it. Good idea, okay execution, but the best version of Buzzard is the one I din't get to read. 

This novella just hits different. Doctor Liz has barely been acquitted for performing the last legal abortion in North Dakota when she gets kidnapped by a fundamentalist cult that needs an OB/GYN. That premise is wild and uncomfortable and Kritzer leans all the way into it. No slow burn, no setup, just tension from basically the first page.
The part that stuck with me most is how Liz is stuck between wanting to escape and being the only doctor those women and girls have. It's such a messed up situation and the book doesn't try to make it neat or easy, which I really appreciated. And honestly, reading this as someone who's been watching the whole reproductive rights disaster unfold... it didn't feel like fiction. Like, at all. Dystopia but make it current events.
My only real complaint is that it's a novella and I raced through it and then it was just over, and I wanted more. More time with the characters, more of that world. It was really good, really tense, would recommend.

The Demon Star throws you straight into a world where human sacrifice is just... a regular thing, and that sets the tone perfectly. Ysira survived something she wasn't supposed to survive, and what comes after is this wild ride through demons, gods, aliens and cults that somehow all makes sense together. Epic in scope — canyons haunted by demons AND a satellite in space — but still grounded in two main characters who are both deeply messed up in very human ways.
The horror is where this really shines. The gore is unapologetic and honestly kind of fun? There's a joy in how Aragon writes the gruesome scenes that keeps them from feeling gratuitous, and the mix of sci-fi, fantasy and horror just... clicks in ways I wasn't expecting.
The book works as a standalone but leaves a few threads dangling that I really hope get picked up someday. My only complaint is that I want more.

Thanks to NetGalley for the ARC

This is exactly the kind of book that has me back in the Veronica Roth rabbit hole. Seek the Traitor's Son just grabbed me from the start with Elegy, a soldier who becomes the subject of this prophecy that could shift everything for the Cedrae. The world is wild, technologically advanced Cedrae versus the magically gifted Talusar in this endless war. The pacing is so tight I couldn't stop reading because the stakes actually feel real.
What really got me was the characters. Elegy's the kind of protagonist you'd genuinely want as a friend, selfless and just, and Theron's the type who grows on you even when he's annoying at first. They feel like they're meant to be together, like this fated team trying to save their world. The romance moves slowly and yeah, some people weren't into it, but I liked how it actually felt earned. There's something really satisfying about watching two people realize they can trust each other when they shouldn't.
The only thing that bugged me a bit was how some moments felt rushed, especially the intimate scenes, and I've still got questions about the whole Cedrae versus Talusar thing. But honestly? That's exactly why I'm already thinking about book two. This is adult fantasy that doesn't need crazy battle scenes to feel epic, it's about people making impossible choices, and Roth absolutely delivered on that.

 This one is pure Black Mirror in book form and I was here for it. Mary G. Thompson takes the cloning premise and pushes it into properly uncomfortable territory: in a near future where natural conception is collapsing and children keep dying, rich families can sign up for a state program that gives them backup clones of their kid, with consciousness constantly synced. If something happens to the original, you just transfer them into one of the spare bodies. Easy. The catch is that those spare bodies are real people living real lives, and the law says they don't own themselves. The story opens right in the middle of one of those takeovers going wrong, and from there it pretty much never lets you breathe.

What I loved most is how Thompson refuses to tell you who to root for. Geoff is fighting to keep his existence by overwriting Nathan, but Nathan is fighting for the exact same thing, and neither of them feels like a villain. Around them the Blake family is falling apart in a very quiet, well dressed way: an anxious mother medicated into a fog, a father obsessed with image, a sister who sees way too much. It made me think a lot about autonomy and how easily a society can decide some lives are basically backup files. As someone neurodivergent that part hit harder than I expected, because the whole machinery of the book is about who counts as a full person and who gets reduced to a resource.

The pacing is twisty and dark and the worldbuilding has that cold polished science fiction sheen I really enjoy, but underneath there is a hollowness in every scene, like all this money and tech cannot patch up what the Blake family actually is. The ending is ambiguous in a way that will probably annoy some readers but I liked it, it keeps the moral mess unresolved instead of tying a neat bow on it. A solid 4.25 from me. If you like speculative fiction that asks ugly ethical questions without lecturing you, this is a great one to pick up. 

Thank you to Net Galley for the ARC

 This was an interesting concept that didn't quite land for me. Alexys works in HR at Entity, a company that catalogs and manages monsters, and when one of her new Wardens goes missing in the Appalachian Mountains she heads off into monster country to find him. Her work nemesis Nic, tags along. 

My main issue was the romance, which goes from zero to one hundred way too fast for what is supposedly a slow burn. One minute they're snarking at each other across the office and the next they're basically inseparable, and I never quite felt the bridge between those two states. The other thing that pulled me out was Alexys herself. She's framed as the model employee, the one with the legacy and the drive to climb the ladder, but she seems to know almost nothing about the folklore of the very monsters her company exists to manage. For someone who grew up with a Warden father in Appalachia, that gap felt strange and made the stakes a bit hollow.

That said, I think a lot of readers are going to love this one and the sequels that will surely follow. It's cozy fantasy with notes of horror and even some gore, the Appalachian setting is atmospheric in a way I really did enjoy, and the workplace nemesis vibe will hit perfectly for the right person. Just not quite for me.

Thanks to NetGalley for the ARC

 

Okay so Retro is a book I really wanted to love because time travel is hands down one of my favourite themes ever. The premise sounded fantastic, a company that has cracked time travel and hires actors to play tour guides taking rich people on holidays through American history, like bachelorette parties in the Old West or Wall Street guys playing Gold Rush. Ash is a struggling actress who joins them, gets to wander into Woodstock and even falls for a guy in 1937. On paper this book has absolutely everything I usually adore.

But here is where my brain got stuck. Nothing really happens. For more than 400 pages we follow Ash going on tours, having a slow burn with Frank, and noticing tiny memory glitches that nobody at Retro takes seriously. The whole thing runs on vibes, no real explanation of how the trains travel through time, no rising tension, just one historical setting after another with very little payoff. 

Then the twist arrives around the 90% mark and suddenly the book remembers it has a plot. Honestly the last few chapters are the best part of the whole novel and they made me wish the rest had carried half their energy. I can see why some readers find it cozy and atmospheric, and if you love a slow character study with light sci-fi sprinkles on top you might click with it more than I did. For me the time travel theme deserved more bite, more stakes, more strangeness. I closed the book feeling more frustrated than satisfied, which is a shame because the concept could have been brilliant.

Thank you to NetGalley for the ARC

 I cannot believe it took me this long to finally read Animal Farm. It had been sitting on my shelf for years, judging me silently, and I kept telling myself I already knew the story so why bother. Big mistake. Knowing the famous quote about some animals being more equal than others is not the same as actually watching the pigs slowly twist every commandment painted on that barn wall. Orwell does so much in so few pages that it almost feels unfair, like he is showing off.  What hit me hardest was how quietly the corruption happens. The animals overthrow Mr. Jones full of hope and revolutionary energy, and then bit by bit Napoleon and the pigs rewrite history, gaslight everyone into doubting their own memories, and you sit there reading and thinking how does nobody notice. But of course they do notice, they just cannot articulate it, or they are too tired, or Squealer has already convinced them that things were always this way. As someone whose brain tends to fixate on patterns and inconsistencies, watching Boxer keep working harder while the rules shift under him was genuinely painful. Poor Boxer deserved better. I will not be recovering from his fate any time soon.  I am giving it 4 stars and not 5 because, while the political allegory is razor sharp, I sometimes wished for a tiny bit more emotional texture with the animals beyond their archetypes. Still, the book is essential and feels almost prophetic about how language gets weaponized and how easily people accept obvious lies if they are repeated with enough confidence. Reading it in 2026 felt uncomfortable in the best possible way. Should have read it sooner, but maybe it landed harder now. 

 Molka starts with such a strong premise. The molka epidemic in South Korea (hidden spy cameras used for voyeurism) is genuinely terrifying and relevant, and Monika Kim sets up this creepy, suffocating atmosphere really well. Junyoung, the IT guy who's installed cameras all over the building bathrooms, is one of the most unsettling characters I've read in a while. And Dahye's story, dealing with an intimate video leaked by her boyfriend, feels so real and so infuriating. I was completely hooked in the first half.  But then somewhere in the middle it kind of... lost me? The pacing drags a lot for a book that's not even that long, and the revenge angle that the cover basically promises you doesn't show up until you're already 85% through. I wanted to feel that rage building up slowly and then exploding, but it felt more like a slow simmer that never quite boiled. The ending was also a bit divisive for me. I get what Kim was going for, and it's not bad exactly, it just didn't feel as satisfying as I needed it to be after everything Dahye went through.  I still think Monika Kim is genuinely talented and I really enjoyed her debut more (The Eyes Are the Best Part is just chef's kiss), but this one felt like it didn't fully deliver on its own promise. That said, I'll absolutely keep reading whatever she writes. She has such a specific, visceral way of writing horror that I can't quit. 

Okay, so I went into this one expecting my feminist ire to be properly stoked and honestly? It's complicated. The premise is absolutely bonkers, a bored PhD student who starts murdering misogynistic men after witnessing a creep die from a bee allergy. The concept is chef's kiss, and Thompson doesn't shy away from the dark humor. Yrsa is gloriously angry and messy, and there's something cathartic about watching her wreak havoc. The writing is punchy and the feminist rage underlying everything is palpable and real.
But the execution feels surface level at times. Yrsa's motivations are solid, but sometimes the kills feel more like plot devices than genuine character moments. I wanted more depth in her internal world. Yes, she's bored and angry, but there's a lack of vulnerability that made it hard to connect. The body count rises faster than expected, and while entertaining, it undermines the psychological thriller element that could have made this truly unsettling.
The feminist commentary is pointed, but I'd be lying if I said it doesn't occasionally veer into territory that felt too convenient or preachy. That said, it's refreshing to read a female protagonist who's unapologetically violent and doesn't apologize for her rage. It's not perfect, and it won't be for everyone, but it's the kind of story that stays with you and makes you think about justice, anger, and what we're allowed to feel. Worth the read if you're into dark, messy, feminist fiction.

Thanks to NetGalley for the ARC

This book absolutely wrecked me in the best way. Following Etna, a military dog navigating life after war, is both heartbreaking and unexpectedly hopeful. Yoon writes with such tenderness about trauma and resilience. The journey feels real and earned, and watching Etna search for home while processing everything he's lost is genuinely moving. The prose is beautiful without being pretentious, and the pacing keeps you invested from start to finish.
What really got me is how the book doesn't shy away from the complexity of peacetime. It would be easy to make this a straightforward survival story, but instead Yoon explores how broken everything still is after war, how people and animals struggle to piece themselves back together. The side characters feel lived-in, and the relationships Etna forms matter. There's real tenderness here that caught me off guard.
My only issue is that some parts felt slightly rushed toward the end, and I wanted more time with certain characters. The ending is satisfying but left me wanting to sit with it longer. Still, this is a remarkable little book about finding hope and home in impossible circumstances. Highly recommend if you want something that sticks with you.

Thanks to NetGalley for the ARC

 I really wanted to love this one. Sanderson is one of my favorite authors and I usually devour anything he puts out, so when I saw him teaming up with Peter Orullian for a contemporary fantasy set in London I was sold from the title alone. The premise is honestly cool, a struggling musician dies and wakes up in a layered version of the city where every historical era is stacked underneath the modern one and magic runs on light and music. There is something very Sanderson about the internal logic of the magic system and you can feel his fingerprints on the structure of how the strata work.

But here is where it stopped working for me. I am not a music person at all, and a huge chunk of this book leans into the emotional power of songs and performance and that whole rocker mystique around Jack. I think if you are someone who feels music in your bones this would probably hit way harder, but my brain kept sliding off those scenes. As a neurodivergent reader I tend to need a really strong hook to pull me in when something is not naturally my thing, and I just never found mine here. The action set pieces also started blending together for me around the middle, the same kind of confrontation in slightly different layers of old London, and I caught myself zoning out more than once.

So three stars, which honestly hurts because Sanderson never lands below four for me. There is craft here, the strata concept is genuinely fun, and I can already picture readers who love music and urban fantasy eating this up as the opener of The Strata Wars. It just was not the right book for my particular wiring. I will probably still grab book two out of pure Sanderson loyalty, hoping the next stratum pulls me in a direction that grabs my brain a bit better.

Thanks to NetGalley for the ARC 

 This book wrecked me. We Burned So Bright follows Don and Rodney, two husbands in their seventies who have been together for forty years. A rogue black hole is coming for Earth and they have one month left. They get in the car and drive from Maine to Washington to take care of one last thing before the world ends. It sounds gimmicky but it really is not. Klune does not write the apocalypse, he writes the people inside it.  It is a very sad book but in a strange way also hopeful. It makes you ask uncomfortable questions. Was your best good enough. Were you a good parent, a good partner, a good person. And at the same time there is so much tenderness on the road. Bonfires, weddings, strangers being kind to strangers because what else is there to do. Don is soft, Rodney is grumpy, and after forty years they bicker like only two people who really love each other can. The book also talks about parenting a kid the world is not kind to, and as a neurodivergent person who grew up feeling like that kid, that part hit me really hard.  Klune usually writes cozier stories so this one surprised me. It has more grit and a lot more darkness, but it never feels hopeless. I cried, I felt seen, I closed the book feeling weirdly less alone. Five stars. I am going to be thinking about this one for a long time. 
Thank you to NetGalley for the arc

Chuck Tingle has done it again, and honestly I don't know how he keeps pulling this off. Fabulous Bodies follows Poppy Stringer, a fashion influencer by day and grave robber by night, who gets tangled in the most chaotic night of her life when her rockstar idol Eddie Michaels wakes up mid delivery. Living in LA makes the Palm Springs setting hit different for me, that dusty glamour is just a couple of hours away and Tingle absolutely nails the vibe, that weird mix of desert eerie and rhinestone extravagance soaked in fake tan.

What makes this book work is how Tingle keeps finding real emotional depth inside completely unhinged premises. The gore is cartoonish and genuinely fun, but somehow I still got choked up near the end, which feels so on brand for him at this point. Poppy is a mess in the best possible way, her voice pulls you in even when the plot is literally throwing body parts around, and the commentary on celebrity worship and influencer culture lands without ever feeling preachy.

If you want a horror novel that is campy, kitschy, surprisingly tender and completely impossible to put down, this is it. Not his scariest, but maybe his most heart forward so far, and I am already rereading my favorite scenes. Tingle keeps proving that ridiculous premises can carry genuine feeling, and I will keep reading whatever he writes next.

Thanks to NetGally for the ARC

A short novella about one Monday in the life of a woman working at a day care in New York. The story jumps between the kids in her classroom and her own thoughts: a friend who died, her divorce, a new guy, her family back home.  As a mom of two girls, I have so much respect for teachers, and this book made me feel it even more. Taking care of little kids all day is no joke.  But that was also the problem for me. The book follows one whole day so closely that I finished it feeling as tired as the narrator probably was. I didn't really connect with the characters, and even the scary moment near the end felt like just another thing happening.  Nice writing and honest, but it didn't stick with me much. 

Thank you to NetGalley for the ARC

I read this in 2 sittings. Short, tight, and suffocating in the best way. The house itself feels alive, pressing down on you from the first page.
What makes it land is how honestly Kliewer writes OCD. The Rites aren't just a creepy plot device, they're a real portrait of compulsion: the illogical bargains, the terror of breaking the pattern, the way the mind builds its own prison. If OCD or suicidal ideation are sensitive topics for you, go in carefully.
The ending is chilling and exactly the right kind of ambiguous, even if it left me with questions I'm still turning over. A small, terrifying gem.
TW: OCD, suicidal ideation, suicide.

At 94 pages, Grief Eater has no business hitting this hard. Kristina dies violently, comes back as a zombie, and wakes up angry, hungry, and heading straight for the family that abandoned her. Set in the scorched Australian bush, this is not your typical zombie story. Underneath all that blood and rot there's a raw story about domestic abuse, homophobia, and what happens when the people who were supposed to love you are the ones who destroyed you.
The author uses the zombie as a metaphor for grief and rage in a way that feels completely earned. Kristina's body is literally falling apart while her mind fractures, and the parallel between physical decay and emotional damage is brutal. The writing doesn't flinch.
My only complaint is that I wanted more. Some emotional beats around Kristina's past could have breathed a little longer, but maybe the brevity is the point.

Thanks to NetGalley for the ARC

Chuck Tingle keeps proving he's so much more than internet memes. If you read Lucky Day, you already know he can write a damn good thriller, but Bury Your Gays takes it further. Misha Byrne is a queer horror screenwriter whose studio tells him to kill off the gay characters in his show because “it's what the algorithm wants.” When he says no, the monsters from his own movies start showing up in real life to hunt him down. Yes, it's as wild as it sounds, and it works.

“I'm so fucking sick of queer tragedy.” That quote is basically the soul of this book. Tingle is furious about how Hollywood treats queer characters, the way they only exist to suffer and die for “dramatic stakes,” and he channels that anger into something both scary and deeply personal. The horror is real, cosmic dread mixed with slasher gore and body horror that genuinely made me uncomfortable. But underneath all that, this is a love letter to queer joy and found family. Misha and his friends have such a warm, funny dynamic that you're terrified something will happen to them.
Where it loses me a little is the ending. The first two thirds build tension so well that the resolution feels rushed by comparison. Some of the weirder, more cosmic elements deserved more space. If you're like me and love when horror goes full speculative, you'll feel that missed opportunity. But honestly, “I wanted more” is the best kind of complaint.

I'll be honest: the “weird girl” genre has been exhausting me lately. It's become this literary assembly line of quirky, unhinged female protagonists, and I've been rolling my eyes at most of them. So when I picked up A Good Person, I was bracing myself for another one.
I was wrong. Delightfully, infuriatingly wrong.
Lillian is absolutely insufferable, a narcissistic, delusional, self-absorbed mess of a human being who hexes her ex-situationship and then he actually dies. And somehow, against all logic, I couldn't stop reading. Kirsten King does something really clever here: she doesn't ask you to like Lillian. She doesn't try to make her secretly good or give her a redemption arc wrapped in a bow. She just lets her be terrible and makes it genuinely hilarious. There's a quote that captures Lillian's entire worldview perfectly: “I told her that I thought I was a good person, but sometimes I felt other people were too stupid to see that.” That's the whole book in one sentence, and if you laughed, you'll love this.
What separates this from the pile of “unhinged girl” novels is the writing. King comes from screenwriting, and it shows,  the dialogue is sharp, the pacing is relentless, and every scene earns its place. This isn't just chaos for chaos' sake. There's craft behind the madness.
My only minor gripe is that the third act doesn't quite match the electric energy of the first two-thirds, which is why this lands at 4.5 rather than a full 5. But honestly? This is one of the most entertaining debuts of 2026, and I'll be first in line for whatever Kirsten King writes next, I can't wait to see the movie.
Recommended if you want a protagonist you'd never want to meet in real life but can't stop reading

Thank you to NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

I'll say this first: I wish I had this book when I was a kid.
Wired Different(ly) uses robots in a post-human world as a metaphor for neurodivergence, and honestly it works better than it has any right to. Different robots are wired differently and the story follows them navigating a world that was designed for a “standard model” that most of them don't fit. ADHD, autism, dyslexia, bipolar disorder, misophonia, anxiety... the book covers a lot of ground without ever feeling like a textbook, this doesn't feel like a lesson. It feels like a story that happens to make you understand things better.
The plot itself is pretty straightforward. It's not going to blow anyone's mind with twists or reinvent the graphic novel format. And that's fine, because that's not what this book is trying to do. What it IS trying to do is look a neurodivergent kid in the eye and say: you're not broken. You're not alone. Your feelings are valid. And for that? It doesn't need a complicated plot. It needs heart, and it has plenty.
Where the book really got me was the bullying scenes. They're not overdone or dramatic for the sake of drama. They're quiet and realistic in a way that honestly made my stomach turn, because I recognized them. The casual cruelty, the exclusion that nobody calls out, the moment where a character just... stops trying. If you've been the weird kid (hi, that was me, that IS me), you know exactly what those panels feel like. And the book doesn't shy away from the darker consequences either. 
I docked a star because some of the secondary characters feel a bit thin, and there are moments where the dialogue gets a little after-school-special. But book does something really important: it gives neurodivergent kids a mirror, and it gives neurotypical kids a window. Both of those things matter a lot.
If you're a parent, a teacher, or just someone who wants to understand what it's like to move through the world with a brain that doesn't come with the standard manual, read this. Give it to your kids. Give it to their friends. Give it to that one family member who still thinks ADHD means “just try harder.” Four stars and a lot of gratitude for books like this existing.

TW: bullying, suicide, Social isolation