Tami Orendain

Maude hasn’t spoken to Odette, her childhood best friend, in four years—ever since Maude’s magic “dried up.” But when Odette disappears and everyone assumes that she’s dead, Maude feels a mysterious pull toward Sicklehurst, an abandoned power plant that no one seems to be able to remember. As Maude enters Sicklehurst in search of Odette, she draws strength from the stories they used to share, tales of princes and monsters with happy endings. But the further Maude ventures into Sicklehurst, the more she discovers that her mysterious past may finally be catching up to her.

In A Hunger of Thorns, Australian author Lili Wilkinson creates a lush coming-of-age story that upends narrative expectations about witches and fairy tales. The world of the novel feels fantastical yet familiar: Magic exists, but it’s regulated by the government and controlled by corporations. Witches go to school, but the spells they learn are superficial and commoditized—enchanted laundry detergent, charms to find lost keys. Maude has grown up in this world, but as she uncovers truths about her family, their home and magic itself, she brings readers along through the twists and turns of a forgotten past.

Wilkinson’s prose is full of sensuality, shifting between the gorgeous and the grotesque. Maude’s fluctuating feelings have a visceral quality; her obsession with Odette is all-consuming, and the loss of her magical powers is tangibly painful. The physical body itself is also a central concern. In one scene, Maude observes that the presence of magic feels like “a heavy pull in my abdomen, like I’m getting my period,” and the performance of magic can require all kinds of bodily fluids.

A Hunger of Thorns isn’t a book for readers with weak stomachs or faint hearts, but it’s not devoid of hopefulness, either. Maude struggles with loss and loneliness but also finds a way to move beyond her past and appreciate her present. As she realizes how she’s allowed her search for Odette to drive her—and cause her to harm others—she also takes responsibility for her actions and holds others responsible for theirs. The narrative itself challenges Maude’s view of herself, demonstrating the power in genuine, honest self-reflection.

Gritty, bold and unflinching, A Hunger of Thorns turns a mirror on the darkest parts of growing up and asks readers to look closely at what’s reflected. Only by facing the truth, Wilkinson assures us, can we learn, heal and grow. It’s an ideal read for anyone in search of a surprising and original witchy fantasy.

After earning a spot in a prestigious high school writing intensive, Jules wants nothing more than to spend her summer drafting incredible stories. But when she posts her first idea online, a mysterious collaborator named “Happily Ever Drafter” responds. Could this person be Ryan, a fellow writer and the twin brother of her best friend, Ivy? Could it be Calvin, her abuela’s cute new neighbor? Or maybe it’s Lucas, her childhood friend and fellow waiter at her family’s restaurant? As Jules writes, investigates and builds relationships, she discovers that love may be more complicated than novels make it seem.

Maria E. Andreu’s Julieta and the Romeos is a sweet coming-of-age novel that plays off classic tropes of the romance genre. Each Romeo fulfills a convention—enemies to lovers (Ryan), friends to lovers (Lucas) and the boy next door (Calvin)—but Jules is refreshingly aware of these roles and actively tries to see past them to the truth. It’s a task easier said than done, often leading to unexpected and humorous confrontations.

While romance drives the story’s mystery plot, Julieta and the Romeos is ultimately about Jules’ process of learning to take hold of her own destiny. As a child of Argentine immigrants, she feels a tension between her duty to her family’s business and her own dreams of becoming a writer. Her parents’ struggling restaurant challenges her to rethink her own definition of a “good life”: What does it mean that their dream (and, it seems, their relationship) isn’t working out? When is the right time to commit to a goal, and how do you know when it’s time to let go? Jules faces many choices, and she must learn to make decisions that reflect what she truly believes in, rather than acquiescing half-heartedly or under pressure. 

Amid these serious concerns, Julieta and the Romeos remains funny, lighthearted and true to the rom-com genre. As Jules learns to see beyond traditional expectations about life and love, she discovers that she has the power to create the life she wants for herself. Her story encourages readers to choose the paths that make them feel healthiest, happiest and most at home. 

Aurelie possesses the rare skill of Seeking, the art of finding people, but she’s given up on magic—it’s an outdated practice in the kingdom, anyway. Being a baker’s apprentice isn’t her dream, but it’s safe and stable, and she’d be content to remain a baker forever. That is, until a bounty hunter named Iliana visits her shop and asks for help in her quest to rescue Prince Hapless. Aurelie joins Iliana and her troll associate, Quad, and gets swept up into a kingdomwide adventure involving strange creatures, mysterious assassins and royal conspiracies. Their odyssey takes Aurelie far from the bakery and calls into question whether she’s living the life she really wants.

While author Emma Mills takes inspiration from classic fairy tales in Something Close to Magic, she also challenges traditional fantasy tropes. Magic, for example, is seen as antiquated and pointless, and those who practice magic are largely dismissed by society. And Prince Hapless is the story’s damsel in distress, needing the female characters to save him. Mills also gives each character more depth than a traditional fable would, diving into Aurelie’s complex emotions about her future, Hapless’ tense relationship with his role as a thirdborn royal son, Iliana’s hidden past and Quad’s perspective on humanity. Nuanced, profound scenes mingle with lighter, humorous moments, making the characters feel real and their growth believable. It’s easy to root for their success as a team after watching the steady development of their relationships.

Mills’ mastery of language is on full display here, with fun, clever prose and dialogue that are bound to make readers laugh out loud. The banter between characters feels natural, with conversations showcasing Aurelie’s tenacity, Iliana’s wit, Hapless’ charm and Quad’s candor.

Classic fairy-tale settings, compelling mysteries and a charismatic cast of characters make Something Close to Magic an entertaining, fast-paced read, and its ending strikes the perfect balance between satisfaction and the promise of more adventures. Readers will be reminded of The Princess Bride; Something Close to Magic may be a fantastical tale, but it’s also one with relationships that hit close to home.

The people of Raddith are used to living with magic. The country bustles with business, bureaucracy and other hallmarks of humanity, but around its edges are whispers of curses—dangerous magic spawned from intense negative emotion. Kellen, an unraveller with the rare ability to undo these curses, and Nettle, his stoic companion with a hidden past, make a meager living catching cursers and helping those they’ve cursed. After an old enemy threatens revenge against Kellen for unraveling her curse and leading to her imprisonment, Kellen and Nettle stumble into a mystery that challenges everything they know about Raddith, magic and their friendship.

In Unraveller, acclaimed author Frances Hardinge creates two settings that both feel fantastical and familiar: Raddith, the land of humans, and the Wilds, the marshy woods where magic thrives. The novel features otherworldly creatures such as spell-weaving Little Brothers, which are “not spiders, however much they look like them,” terrifying bog spirits and more, but Hardinge also depicts how humans coexist with such creatures. The humans in Raddith see them as a source of power, while people in the Wilds treat them with respect, even reverence. The novel’s unique magic system reflects this intertwining of the mundane and the marvelous as well: Strange, unpredictable curses that transform people into animals or steal their shadows stem from pent-up human emotions like resentment, anger and hatred.

This emotion-fueled magic system places character development at the forefront of Unraveller. Nettle seems calm and collected, but she actually struggles to express how she feels, while Kellen understands the importance of communication but flees as soon as a curse is lifted, not realizing that true healing takes time. Their personalities clash and complement each other throughout the book, demonstrating how growth and friendship aren’t linear—but are rewarding. 

Hardinge isn’t afraid to challenge her readers to rethink their perceptions of hatred and healing, and she does so by venturing into some of the darkest aspects of human guilt, shame and anger. Almost every member of the novel’s large cast must learn to deal with complicated emotions, whether they’re cursers or cursed, from minor villagers to Kellen and Nettle’s most trusted allies. Some characters fall prey to their feelings, while others open up, forgive and change their ways. 

Unraveller is a multilayered, challenging and unflinching read, with occasional depictions of gore and body horror that may unsettle some readers. It poses a difficult but deeply necessary question: What does it mean to truly heal and be healed?