The statistics tell a disturbing story: not only do a disproportionate number of Black people go missing in the U.S. every year but their disappearances are also less likely to be widely covered by the media than those of their white counterparts. (See The Black and Missing Foundation.) I've long known about this disparity. However, I'm not sure I've ever read a book on the subject, fiction or non. We Don't Talk About Carol, a debut novel by Kristen L. Berry, brings the issue to light in a poignant and impactful story about one woman's plight to find answers about her missing aunt. 

When Sydney Singleton's grandmother dies in Raleigh, North Carolina, Sydney flies out to help her mother and younger sister clean out Grammy's home so it can be sold. Formerly an investigative journalist, Sydney's curiosity is piqued when she discovers a hidden photograph of a young woman who looks just like Sydney. Although her deceased father professed to be an only child, she soon discovers that he, in fact, had an older sister who vanished without a trace in 1965 when she was 17 years old. Not only that, but she was one of six teenaged girls who disappeared from the same Black community around the same time. Sydney's even more shocked—and angry—to discover that the string of disappearances were barely mentioned in the newspapers at the time or investigated by local law enforcement. After suffering a mental break caused by covering a heart-wrenching story, Sydney is no longer a reporter. In the middle of IVF treatments, she's supposed to be avoiding stress. Plus, her mother insists she forget all about Aunt Carol, citing her famous refrain: what happens in this house stays in this house. Sydney knows she should let it go, but she can't.

Sydney launches her own investigation into the disappearances of the Raleigh Six 60 years ago. It's not an easy task. While some people are eager to talk, others are reticent. It's clear that, in spite of the decades that have passed, someone out there knows what really happened to the girls. As Sydney digs deeper and deeper, she unearths dark secrets about her family and herself, secrets that only deepen her questions about her identity and her uncertainty about her ability to be a good mother. The more her investigation disrupts Sydney's ordered life, the more dangerous it becomes. Desperate to find answers, she puts everything on the line to solve six very cold cases.

Although We Don't Talk About Carol presents as a mystery/thriller, it's actually more of a family drama. Yes, suspicious deaths are being dug into, but the story is mostly about Sydney and her struggle to define herself within her roles as a daughter, a sister, a wife, and a journalist who has settled for a less-than-satisfying career in PR. As she probes Carol's life for clues, she also examines her own repressed memories of a tense childhood, her mother's reluctance to talk about anything of substance, her sometimes rocky relationship with her sister, and her conflicting feelings about the possibility of becoming a mother. Her personal struggles makes her sympathetic and relatable, while her determination to find the Raleigh Six make her admirable. It's easy to root for Sydney. I wanted her to find all the answers she sought.

As far as plot goes, We Don't Talk About Carol moves a little slowly. It's not exactly a page turner, but I quickly got invested in the story, wanting to know what had happened to Carol and the other missing teens. Although the answers are a bit predictable, I was surprised by at least one plot twist. The story kept me turning pages. In the end, I found it to be an affecting read that is, despite its sad subject matter, surprisingly hopeful.

Because of its eye-opening subject matter and the fact that it's a solid, satisfying debut, I wish We Don't Talk About Carol was getting more attention. I received an e-ARC of the book from NetGalley last year, but forgot all about it until I randomly came across it again the other day. I'm glad I did. I recommend picking up this novel if you're looking for an absorbing, memorable read on an important subject.

(Readalikes: I can't think of anything. Can you?)

To the FTC, with love: I received an e-ARC of We Don't Talk About Carol from the generous folks at Random House Publishing Group via those at NetGalley. Thank you!

A planner by nature (and profession), Tabitha Basnight is determined to turn her unconventional clan into a real family. She wants her 7-year-old twins to maintain a close bond with their biological siblings, even though the children are spread out between three different households. The families' frequent (but hurried) gatherings aren't enough for Tabitha, who longs for a close sisterhood with her fellow adoptive mothers. To that end, she has organized an activity-filled, two-week stay for the entire crew at a vacation home in Aspen, Colorado. Tabitha just knows the time together will finally cement the bonds between them in the rock solid way she's been dreaming of. 

Elizabeth Evans isn't quite as thrilled about her upcoming vacation. After five years of miscarriages and IVF treatments, she and her husband couldn't wait to adopt infant Violet. John is absolutely enthralled with fatherhood, but Elizabeth? Well, she kind of hates it. Weighed down by guilt, exhaustion, and heavy debt from her infertility treatments, Elizabeth is already on edge. How is she supposed to keep it together while in such close proximity to Tabitha, the perfect mother? 

Although Ginger Kowalski, an introverted technical writer, never intended to have children, she's delighted with her adoptive daughter. She's less enamored with Tabitha's determination to create one big, happy family. By living in a different city than the other parents, shy, private Ginger is able to keep a little bit of distance. She knows Tabitha doesn't agree with her choice and she's not looking forward to spending two weeks feeling suffocated and pressured by the bossy planner.  

When Brianna, the kids' flighty birthmother, calls to let the families know she's pregnant again, it lights a match to a fire already stoked with a dangerous mix of anxiety, resentment, guilt, jealousy, doubt, and feelings of inadequacy. Will the family be able to rise from the ashes of the ensuing inferno? Or will the vacation that was supposed to bond them forever tear them apart for good?

I hadn't heard of Any Other Family by Eleanor Brown before seeing it advertised at a local bookship with a note saying, "Everyone connected with adoption should read this book." I'm an adoptive mom who's always looking for a compelling read, so I picked the book up (from the library, because I'm also cheap). The story immediately sucked me in, not because it's action-packed, edge-of-your-seat kind of stuff, but because the characters are so relatable. I saw different elements of myself in each of the three moms at the center of the book. All three are complex, sympathetic, well-actualized characters. I cared about them, their children, and what was going to happen to their unique family. This is very much a character-based novel, but there's enough tension in the plot to keep things moving along. In fact, I zipped through Any Other Family in a day. It's a warm-hearted read that made me smile, sympathize, and think about adoption as a whole and about my experience with it in particular. The author is an adoptive mom herself, so the novel feels authentic, intimate, and very personal. Whatever your experience with adoption, Any Other Family is an engrossing, insightful book. I enjoyed it.

To the FTC, with love: Another library fine find

Inara Erickson has always done what's expected of her in order to please her father, an intimidating and successful Seattle businessman. Now that she's out of grad school, though, Inara's not feeling very keen on starting the job she's been offered with Starbucks, especially once she learns the offer is at least partially due to her dad's influence. Instead, she wants to turn the dilapidated house she's just inherited from her aunt into a boutique hotel. It might be crazy, but she knows that with a little remodeling (okay, a lot of remodeling), she can create a calming place of retreat on beautiful Orcas Island. All Inara needs is someone who believes in her ability to make it all come true (preferably someone with a lot of cash to invest in a new hotel). 

When Inara discovers a scrap of intricately-embrodiered silk hidden inside a forgotten cubbyhole at her aunt's house, she's puzzled. The fabric appears to be of Chinese origin. Inara's family has lived on Orcas Island for generations and she's never known any Asian people to reside there. How did the scrap come to be there? And why was it hidden away? Sensing an unsolved mystery, Inara begins looking into the history of the house and discovers the heartbreaking story of a young 19th Century Chinese-American woman who swam for her life in order to reach safety, only to find an uncertain future on Orcas Island. Inara feels that something awful must have happened to Lu Mei Lien, but what? And what role did her ancestors play in the woman's disappearance?

I'm always up for a novel that takes me back in time to explore intriguing historical moments, tantalizing family secrets, and the truth lurking beneath placid surfaces. If the story utilizes an always-compelling dual timeline format? All the better! The Girl Who Wrote in Silk by Kelli Estes offers all of these elements, so I was eager to dive into the tale. While the San Juan Islands setting is atmospheric, the characters in this novel aren't nearly as vivid or colorful. They're sympathetic and likable enough that I cared what happened to them, but none of them are the kind of story people I think about after I close the book. The plot is compelling enough that I kept reading (listening, actually), but I never felt so engrossed that I couldn't have walked away from the story. Estes' prose also feels uneven, with patches of melodrama that made me roll my eyes. On the whole, then, I didn't end up loving this novel. I liked it well enough to finish it, though, and that's saying something.

Note: I listened to this book on audio. The narrator, Emily Woo Zeller, is okay. Her voices annoyed me at times, but overall, she's fine. 

(Readalikes: I can't think of anything. Can you?)

To the FTC, with love: Another library fine find

As the long-time owners of a prestigious tennis school, Joy and Stan Delaney have coached a number of champions. Their own four children are, however, not among them. While Amy, Brooke, Troy, and Logan all became competent players, none of them quite had what it took to go all the way with the sport. Disappointing, yes, but the Delaney kids have found other ways to be successful adults. And now, with the closing of Delaneys Tennis Academy, 69-year-old Joy and 70-year-old Stan are looking forward to retirement and, most importantly, grandchildren. If the dynamic duo is having a little trouble transitioning from managing a thriving tennis school full of energetic young athletes to finding purpose at home in an empty, ignored nest their busy chicks rarely visit, well, that's understandable. 

When their mother goes missing one day out of the blue, Amy, Brooke, Troy, and Logan are shocked. It's not like dependable Joy to flit off without telling anyone where she's going. Sure, she sent them all a garbled, mystifying text, but now she's not answering her phone. Then there's Stan, who's acting cagey, saying he's too busy to be disturbed. Where could Joy possibly be? And why is her husband behaving so oddly? Could he have...done something? Or does Joy's strange disappearance have to do with Savannah Pagonis, the evasive young stranger who's been staying with Joy and Stan despite their children's protestations?

Knowing the police will automatically suspect their father if they file a missing persons report, Amy, Brooke, Troy, and Logan try to figure things out themselves. Combing over their shared family history provides clues as well as enlightening—and disturbing—insights into dynamics that may well have led to an unthinkable crime...

Big Little Lies, Liane Moriarty's 2014 bestseller, introduced lots of delighted readers (including me) to this talented Australian writer. I proceeded to read—and love—all of her previous novels. Her next two, though? Meh. Since Moriarty has been so off her game, I was hesitant to pick up her newest, Apples Never Fall. When I was offered an ARC, though, I couldn't resist. I mean, c'mon, it's Liane Moriarty! And guess what? I shouldn't have been worried because the author hit it out of the ballpark (er, tennis court?) with this one. Yes, Apples Never Fall is different from her other books, but it's got that old Moriarty spark that I have been sorely missing. Her trademark wit and sharp insight infuse this family drama, coating it with warmth, humor, and poignancy. The characters are complex and flawed, which makes them all the more likable (even when they're not). Plot-wise, the story has plenty of twists to keep things interesting. I was feeling very smug toward the end, thinking I had everything figured out and, boy, was I wrong! I'm so glad I was because the book's finale delighted me to no end. I know Apples Never Fall has gotten mixed reviews from Moriarty noobs and dedicated fans alike, but for me, it's a hit. In fact, besides Big Little Lies, it might be my favorite Moriarty novel of them all. I adored it.  

(Readalikes:  Reminds me of other books by Liane Moriarty)

To the FTC, with love: I received an ARC of Apples Never Fall from the generous folks at Henry Holt in exchange for an honest review. Thank you!

At 26, Meddelin Chan is playing the part of the dutiful Asian daughter by living with her mother and working as a photographer for the family wedding planning business.  It's not exactly what she had in mind for her future, but she can't allow herself to follow her cousins' shameful examples by flitting off to a more exotic clime in search of her own life, leaving her mother behind to cluck over her disloyalty.  Even as she yearns for freedom, Meddy has to admit she finds reluctant comfort in the way her mom and her mom's three loud, overbearing sisters fuss over her every move.  When a bad blind date takes a turn for the much, much worse, she knows exactly who to call.  Turns out, when it comes to hiding a body, her always-feuding, middle-aged aunties are better than the mob.  

Meddy's timing couldn't be worse, however.  With the biggest wedding of their career about to unfold, the women have to bring their A-game to the sparkling event.  Having a corpse along for the ride is not exactly helping.  Things become even more complicated when Meddy realizes her college boyfriend—the one she has pined for ever since their devastating break-up four years ago—is part of the wedding.  Then, the groomsmen get too plastered to walk down the aisle, millions of dollars in gifts go missing, a storm descends on the resort venue, and everything else that could possibly go wrong does.  A suspicious sheriff on the premises could mean the end of the charade and the incarceration of Meddy and her unlikely accomplices.  Can the ladies pull off both a flawless wedding and the perfect crime?  Or will they be planning their next event behind bars, wearing those oh-so-unflattering orange jumpsuits? 

Ever since I heard about Dial A for Aunties, a debut novel by Jesse Q. Sutanto, I knew I wanted to read it.  It just sounded like the perfect light-hearted blend of rom-com and cozy mystery.  Sure, it would be far-fetched and silly, but it also promised to be a fun, upbeat romp.  I've read a lot of dark, depressing books lately, so I was down for something different.  My verdict?  Dial A for Aunties is a fun read in lots of ways.  The "aunties" are definitely the highlight of the story with their constant bickering, hilarious malapropisms, and misplaced pride.  While little about the plot makes any logical sense, it is entertaining in its madcap absurdity.  I also appreciated the #OwnVoices aspect of this novel, in which Sutanto highlights her own Indonesian-Chinese heritage.  All of these elements combine to make the story humorous and entertaining.

I read mostly serious books, which sometimes makes it tough for me to really appreciate a kooky comedy.  So, while I found Dial A for Aunties entertaining, its quick transitions from silly to ridiculous to utterly absurd did drive me a little crazy after a while.  By the end of the story, I was very much done with the over-the-top-ness of it all.  Even in a screwball story like this, there has to be some logic governing the characters' actions, right?  Another thing that tempers the fun in this one is that it's actually very R-rated.  I was surprised to find F-bombs being dropped all over the place, as well as a plethora of innuendo and less subtle sexual references.  This just didn't fit the fun, cozy-ish vibe Dial A for Aunties seemed to be going for.  I admit to going into this book with unrealistically high expectations, which maybe contributed to me feeling (disproportionally?) disappointed in it.  Nevertheless, I found myself wishing for a less daffy, more PG version of this novel.  This opinion will probably make me an outlier in the book blogging world (which is totally okay), but for me, Dial A for Aunties was just an average read.  An entertaining one, just one that didn't turn out to be as satisfying as I wanted it to be.

(Readalikes:  Reminds me of the Noodle Shop Mystery series by Vivien Chien)

To the FTC, with love:  I received an e-ARC for Dial A for Aunties from the generous folks at Penguin Random House in exchange for an honest review.  Thank you!

After the unexpected death of her husband, Laura Evans is struggling to make sense out of everything.  She doesn't understand how her cautious spouse could have fallen at the construction site where he was working, especially after hours.  She has no idea how she's going to pay the bills while a stalled inquest halts insurance payments.  She can barely cope with Tilly, her hostile teenage daughter, who's full of grief and attitude.  Losing her husband, her home, and her struggling flower shop leaves Laura with no money, no support, and no future.  How will she and Tilly survive?

When she and Tilly are offered a place at a commune-style organics farm in the Welsh countryside called Gorphwysfa (Resting Place), Laura has little choice but to take it.  The community's charismatic leader, 27-year-old Alex Draycott, is welcoming and Laura feels herself relaxing for the first time since her husband's death.  It's not long, though, before strange things start happening to Laura and Tilly, things that make Laura question whether Gorphwysfa is a dream or a nightmare.  Tilly's happy at the commune, but as Laura digs deeper into the place's secrets, she grows more and more alarmed.  What is really going on at Gorphwysfa?  Are its gates protecting Laura and Tilly from the outside world or are they imprisoning them, barring its inmates from rescue?  Will the grief-stricken women ever find healing and peace?

Other than its Welsh setting, there's nothing very original about The Family by Louise Jensen.  It's your typical "Is this really a safe, bucolic commune for damaged people or is it a creepy, megalomaniac-led cult that will steal both your money and your soul?" novel.  Laura and Tilly are sympathetic characters, but they're not super smart ones.  Laura's actions after arriving at Gorphwysfa make little sense.  Tilly's decisions are just as dumb, but at least hers can be explained by the ignorance of youth.  Although Alex is described as charming, I found him repugnant from the get-go.  It makes no sense that all the women are in love with him.  Ick.  As far as plot goes, the story moves along at a steady pace.  While I saw most of the twists coming, a couple took me by surprise.  Enough happened in the book to keep me reading, but by the end, I was plowing through just to get it over with, really.  In the end, then, I found The Family to be a pretty ho-hum read.  I doubt I'll revisit this author.

(Readalikes:  Hmmm, I can't think of anything.  You?)

To the FTC, with love:  I bought a copy of The Family with a portion of the millions I make from my lucrative career as a book blogger.  Ha ha.

Minnie Miranda's single mother—an Argentine-American with no close family—labors tirelessly to support her and her two younger sisters.  Mamá is always working overtime at her menial jobs, leaving Minnie in charge.  When she is in their drafty basement apartment, Mamá is exhausted and cranky.  Despite all her hours at work, the fridge is never full, Minnie's sisters have few toys, and all of them make do with embarrassing castoff clothing.  Although the 12-year-old knows she should be grateful just to have a roof over her head, Minnie's tired of being poor, frustrated with all of her grown-up responsibilities, and especially weary of her mother's constant warnings to never let outsiders into their lives.  Mamá insists they don't need anyone's help with anything.  Minnie's not so sure.

Despite the endless hours she works, Mamá always comes home in the evenings to say goodnight to her girls.  When she fails to appear one night, Minnie hopes Mamá has just been unable to get away.  With no word from her, however, Minnie begins to fear the worst: she's been detained by ICE.  Knowing she can't confide in anyone—not even a surprising new school friend—she carries on as best she knows how, trying to keep her sisters calm, fed, and entertained.  Nothing seems to go her away, although somehow, the girls seem to be getting a bit of help from the Peques, the Argentine fairies Minnie's younger sisters still believe in.

Even the Peques can't help with Minnie's upcoming audition for Peter Pan.  Minnie knows a penniless Latinx girl has no real hope of playing Wendy, but she's desperate to try for the part.  Mamá knows how important the audition is to Minnie and promised to be there.  Is she really going to miss it?  If she could be there, Minnie knows she would be.  What has happened to Mamá?  She can't conceal her family's situation for much longer, but her mother has always insisted strangers can't be trusted.  What is Minnie to do? 

Let's be honest here, the cover of On These Magic Shores by Argentine-American Yamile Saied Méndez is...not great.  Thank goodness it came to my attention because of The Whitney Awards.  Had I seen the book in a library or bookstore, I never would have picked it up.  And that would have been a shame because there's a lot to like about this #OwnVoices middle grade novel.  It touches on a lot of tough issues—racism, poverty, fear of deportation, children with too much responsibility, etc.—in a way that is eye-opening but also approachable.  As Minnie struggles, she learns the value of friendship, forgiveness, asking for help when you need it, and being grateful for what you have even if it's not a lot.  Some of the lessons are more subtle than others, but they're all there.  Although the plot of On These Magic Shores isn't always logical, the transitions between scenes not always smooth, and the prose a little rough in places, overall the story is engaging and compelling with enough going on to keep me turning pages.  The magical realism isn't my favorite element of this novel, but it worked well enough.  Character-wise, Minnie and her sisters are sympathetic heroines.  Minnie's prickly personality makes her difficult to like, especially when she acts like a victim-y brat.  She does grow and change because of her struggles, but she's still a bit hard to take.  Others act inconsistently (Maverick, for instance), but they're still a likable lot overall.  There are enough issues with On These Magic Shores that I didn't end up loving it.  However, it is an eye-opening, empowering, empathy-inducing story.  I liked it overall.

(Readalikes:  Reminds me of Land of the Cranes by Aida Salazar and Efrén Divided by Ernesto Cisneros)

Everything has changed since Annie Lee Fitzgerald's father died two months ago.  Not only did the 11-year-old and her mom have to move to a tiny apartment in a rundown neighborhood, but now that her mom is working full-time as a housekeeper, Annie Lee is on her own a lot more.  Despite cutting costs in every possible way, they are still barely making ends meet.  The constant struggle just adds to the overwhelming grief that already looms between them.

Despite her father's absence, there are things that haven't changed.  The bathroom still smells like his aftershave, the radio plays his favorite music, there's stubble in the sink every morning, and the coffeemaker sometimes brews his preferred brand of coffee—even though no one buys it anymore.  Annie Lee's getting used to these strange things, so she's not all that surprised when she notices more magic while she's listening to an old man playing the piano at the mall.  It seems like a sign, maybe even from her dead father, that Annie Lee needs to go back to the lessons she abandoned long ago.  When she learns about a piano competition that pays out a significant prize, she persuades the elderly pianist to teach her.

As Annie Lee attends her clandestine piano lessons, loses herself in books, and gets to know a new friend, she starts to process her grief and even feel a little bit of hope.  When an emergency threatens to blow everything apart, however, she has to make a choice that could ruin everything.

Beginners Welcome, a new middle grade novel by Cindy Baldwin, covers a lot of territory, so it's tough to describe its plot.  In fact, the story's more episodic than tightly told, which makes it seem unfocused at time.  Nevertheless, it features warm, likable characters; an engaging storyline; and solid prose.  While magical realism, even lightly sprinkled, isn't always my favorite, it worked for me in this case, giving the story an extra punch to make it more memorable.  I also appreciate that although this novel deals with some tough subjects, it remains upbeat and hopeful throughout.  While I didn't end up absolutely loving this heartfelt novel, I did enjoy it.

(Readalikes:  Reminds me of Where the Watermelons Grow by Cindy Baldwin as well as other middle grade grief novels, although no specific titles are coming to mind.)

To the FTC, with love:  I received a finished copy of Beginners Welcome from the generous folks at HarperCollins in exchange for an honest review.  Thank you!

When Arthur and Maeve Vergennes bought their home on an isolated inlet of the Chesapeake Bay, an old oyster boat came with the property.  They christened the grounded vessel Nepenthe.  Over the years, Arthur has used it to teach his nine children some of the discipline he gained while serving with the Navy in Korea.  Not only has it served as an elaborate playground for the kids, but through their many imaginary voyages they have formed themselves into a tight crew that values duty, dedication, and their father's family-first approach to life. 

Unlike her 14-year-old sister, who's grown embarrassed by the childish doings on Nepenthe, 18-year-old Verity still spends a lot of her time entertaining her younger siblings by planning and executing daring escapades.  Lately, though, she's feeling the weight of her responsibility.  Unbeknownst to her parents, she's applied to an out-of-state school.  She knows her father—who values family over everything else and intends for her to live at home while attending a local community college—will see it as a betrayal.  Especially since Verity's older brother, Jude, has already abandoned them.  Between Arthur's unwillingness to let her go and her mother's newest pregnancy, which is becoming increasingly worrisome, Verity feels trapped between duty to her family and her desire for a life of her own.  When tragedy strikes, she starts to realize just how alone she and her siblings really are.  Can they keep the family together when everything around them is falling apart?  Can the teamwork that unites them on Nepenthe save them as things go hopelessly awry?  If family love is supposed to cradle you in its protective arms, why does Verity feel like she's being suffocated by the very people who are supposed to love her most?

There's a lot to love about The Family Ship, the newest novel by Sonja Yoerg.  The idea of an old ship as both playground and school is a fun one.  The warm, large-family chaos described in the book rings true, especially for someone who's part of a big brood, like me.  I definitely relate to Verity's plight.  While Arthur's a complicated character, his dedication to his family makes him admirable, if not always understandable.  His wife is unrealistically angelic (I mean, c'mon, no stay-at-home mom adores all of her children every second of every day) but still likable.  While the kids all kind of blend together at times (which is true-to-life in a large clan), they have distinct personalities which make them feel like a believable bunch.  Their story involves some tough subject matter, but overall it's a hopeful tale, something I always appreciate in a family saga.  

My biggest problem with The Family Ship is that it drags on and on and on without really going anywhere.  I kept checking how far I'd read and being shocked when my Kindle said only "30%" or "47%."  Although the action picks up toward the end of the book, the story definitely drags and gets dull.  So, even though I enjoyed being enveloped in the Vergennes' lively household, I still wanted their tale to be more dynamic and exciting.  It's compelling, don't get me wrong.  It just takes Yoerg a loooonnnggg time to tell it.  In the end, then, I liked The Family Ship, but its wordiness and lack of plot made reading it more of a slog than it should have been.  Bummer.  I really wanted to love this one.

(Readalikes:  Reminds me a little bit of The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah and If You Find Me by Emily Murdoch)

Ever since her dad died three years ago, Maddy Gaines' anxiety has been out of control.  The 11-year-old sees danger lurking around every corner, even if no one else does.  She's made so many emergency calls to local authorities that they don't take her seriously anymore.  So, when she meets a mysterious boy setting booby traps in the cemetery, a boy who looks an awful lot like one who went missing six months ago, Maddy knows she can't take her knowledge to the police without proof that the kid really is Billy Holcom.  Maddy is warned off the hunt by her arch enemy, who insists the boy is just his visiting cousin.  She won't be thwarted that easily, not when she's discovered a real emergency, but she will be sure to gather proof this time.  The boy is Billy and Maddy aims to make sure he's found.  When she discovers a reason he might need to stay hidden, however, she realizes that not everything is as it seems.  Is she truly rescuing the kid or putting him in more danger?

Every Missing Piece by Melanie Conklin is a nuanced middle-grade novel that's part mystery, part family drama.  Maddy has a lot to deal with—grief over losing her dad, managing her anxiety, accepting her new, trying-too-hard stepfather, and grappling with a BFF who's leaving Maddy behind as she grows up too fast—even before she starts playing detective.  Her earnestness is appealing, making her a character who's easy to like and root for.  Plot-wise, Every Missing Piece is exciting and engrossing.  The book is also full of subtle lessons about friendship, family, and figuring out how to adapt when change rocks your safe, orderly world.  Every Missing Piece is a touching novel that I very much enjoyed.

(Readalikes:  Reminds me a bit of Closer to Nowhere by Ellen Hopkins)

With six people in their household, life with the Mannings has always been crazy, loud, and fun.  Twelve-year-old Zinny especially enjoys hanging out with Gabriel, her 18-year-old brother, with whom she always has a great time.  When Gabriel is involved in a serious car accident, it throws their close-knit family for a loop.  Even though Gabriel is not injured, he's taken to a hospital—a facility that treats people with mental illnesses.  According to the doctors, Zinny's beloved brother has bi-polar disorder.  Her parents don't know what to do with the diagnosis, so they make Zinny and her siblings promise not to tell anyone what is going on.  Although she can't quite understand the need for secrecy, she agrees to keep mum.

As the weeks pass, all of Zinny's parents' time seems to be taken up with visiting Gabriel, arguing with the insurance company, and talking to therapists.  Zinny's siblings are dealing with Gabriel's situation in their own ways.  The Manning family feels more fractured than it ever has.  Zinny has so many worries that she needs to share, but she can't let her frustrations out without betraying her parents.  Even though she's been invited to attend a special lunch club/support group at school for kids dealing with various difficult issues, she's not about to share what's going on at home.  The longer Gabriel is in the hospital, the more anxious Zinny feels.  If she can't express all the emotions boiling up inside her she's going to burst.  Can she find a way to get the help she needs?  Will her family ever be whole again?  

My Life in the Fish Tank by Barbara Dee is a thoughtful novel about mental illness and how it affects all members of a family.  Although Zinny's victimhood gets old, her emotional roller coaster ride in the wake of her brother's diagnosis feels authentic.  Without a solid story goal, though, her tale feels more episodic than focused.  There's no real plot at the center of My Life in the Fish Tank, which makes the whole story feel a little loosey-goosey.  Still, it features likable characters and teaches some valuable lessons about the importance of feeling and expressing one's emotions, being a true friend, getting help when needed, taking the stigma out of mental illness, and dealing with unexpected changes.  I liked it, didn't love it.

(Readalikes:  Reminds me of Where the Watermelons Grow by Cindy Baldwin and Waiting for Normal by Leslie Connor)

When Isaiah Dunn's father dies unexpectedly, it throws his family a devastating curveball.  Four months later, Isaiah's mom is drinking too much, his little sister is needier than ever, and the whole family is living in a dingy hotel room that smells like smoke.  With the constant threat of homelessness hanging over their heads, 10-year-old Isaiah knows he needs to do something.  He's trying to stay out of trouble at school and find a lucrative part-time job, neither of which is working out too well.  Isaiah's father thought Isaiah was a super hero—he even wrote stories about it—but Isaiah just feels like a failure.  How can he save his family?  He needs the super human skills of all the Avengers combined to pull this one off, but all he has is himself.  Isaiah is just a child.  How can he save the day?

Isaiah Dunn Is My Hero, a debut novel by Kelly J. Baptist, is a slim novel that packs a big punch.  It deals with some tough subjects, but it does so in an accessible, age-appropriate, and hopeful way.  Isaiah is a relatable character who's sympathetic and admirable while still feeling real.  His story teaches many lessons about being yourself, working toward goals, using your talents, and asking for help when you need it.  Isaiah Dunn Is My Hero is a poignant, touching, empowering novel that I enjoyed very much.

(Readalikes:  Um, I can't think of anything.  Can you?)

To the FTC, with love:  Another library fine find

Hannah Lincoln's life has always been safe and stable.  The 12-year-old has two caring parents, plenty of friends, and a love of gymnastics and dancing that sustains her.  Her cousin, Cal Pace, has had the opposite experience.  His mother died three years ago leaving him with his drug-addicted father.  His chaotic home life ended with his dad going to prison and Cal coming to live with the Lincolns.  Hannah's childhood has given her confidence and balance.  Cal's has left him with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).  

Hannah gets that her cousin's been through a lot, but she can't help feeling resentful of his sudden presence in her life.  Cal acts strangely and has serious anger management issues.  Not only is he bullied at school, but his behavior is causing contention in Hannah's home.  She's trying to be patient and understanding, but Hannah feels like her nice, quiet life is spinning out of control.  Will her family ever go back to normal?  Or will Cal's antics tear them apart for good?

Told in verse, Ellen Hopkins' first novel for middle-grade readers tells a poignant story about two cousins with very different life experiences trying to find common ground.  Closer to Nowhere is a quick read that's realistic and relatable.  Based on the author's own experience, the story paints a vivid, sympathetic picture of how addiction impacts not just the addict but his/her whole family.  While Closer to Nowhere deals with tough subjects, overall it's a hopeful book.  I've enjoyed other books by Hopkins and this one is no exception.  It's a heart-wrenching, empathy-inducing novel that spoke to me.

(Readalikes:  Reminds me a little of Christmas After All by Kathryn Lasky)