I Am So Sorry, I Don't Know How to Read Poetry (But I Want to Learn!)

Happy National Poetry Month! I have a confession to make: I don't know how to read poetry. 

I'm only exaggerating a little. I mean, I know how to read poetry. What I don't know is how to understand poetry on the same level I understand prose. Or on the level seemingly every other avid reader does. Or on the level the poet intends. 

I've been a reader my entire life. I've hundreds of novels, memoirs, short story collections, history books, shit, even Dan Brown. I've barely read any poetry. 

Somehow I managed to graduate college with an English/Creative Writing degree having taken exactly ZERO poetry classes. The only time I can recall poetry coming up at all in my college classes was studying a few Shakespeare sonnets. Maybe there was something about John Donne in a Very Old Literature By White Guys class (probably not the actual name of the class) for a minute. But I definitely didn't study anything written in the last 300 years. 

But then so why has poetry eluded me for so long? 

I don't have a good answer. One reason that occurs to me is that my brain works very literally and I like clarity and resolution. Growing up, I loved to read, but I was really good at math and science, too. I was even a chemistry major in college for a few ill-fated semesters. It was the war of my youth: My left brain vs. my right brain...and ultimately my right brain won. But I feel like when I try to engage with poetry, my left brain sneaks over and whispers to my right brain: "Hey man, you're not going to understand this. It's too flowery. Too subjective. There's only barely a story. There are no easy answers." And my right brain, dressed in a linen suit and drinking mint tea, hasn't had the heart to tell my left brain to STFU.

One after another in rapid succession, metaphor, image, symbol, and simile, and even the structure of the poem -- itself imbued with meaning -- means you can't just fly through a poem and go on with your day. A poem requires a close read, and then another. And then probably many more. In this economy? Who's got time for that? 

This is a cop-out, of course. Of course, there is frequent poetic language in the novels and prose I love, too. But they're not so concentrated. You can catch one or two at a time and stop and think and then continue. And if you miss something it's maybe not the end of the world.

But honestly, another reason I haven't read a lot of poetry is because I haven't really tried very hard to learn, either. It's a negative feedback loop and I've been felled by inertia. I'm like a person who tried running for a month in their early 20s, decided they hated running, and hasn't tried again since. (If that sounds like an oddly specific example, well, I lived it. But about a decade ago, I DID try running again, and realized I loved it. And haven't stopped since. Hmm...do we have another possible parallel incoming?)

And so now I'm determined to try reading poems again. No better time than National Poetry Month to learn how to read poetry. To enjoy poetry. To love poetry? 

Look, I know you can't just tell yourself to love something. And then do it. But by putting in some time and equipping yourself with the right tools, I can at least maybe identify why it hasn't worked yet. 

I've also just picked up a book titled Don't Read Poetry: A Book About How to Read Poems, by Harvard professor Stephanie Burt. The book is supposedly "an accessible introduction to the seemingly daunting task of reading, understanding, enjoying, and learning from poems." The words "seemingly daunting task" are doing some seriously heavily lifting in that blurb. 

It does feel daunting. But having been a reader my whole life, I feel like I'm in a good spot to finally figure this out. 

And I have a good collection to start. Every year at AWP (that's the big annual conference for writers), I seem to collect poetry collections. It's always good to support small presses, which are, generally speaking, the purveyors of poetry. So each of the last four years I've come home with a fistful of poetry...that has just sat on my nightstand. 

Collected poetry collections in the photo above:

The Tradition, by Jericho Brown

A Fortune for Your Disaster, by Hanif Abdurraqib

The New Testament, by Jericho Brown

REPLICA, by Lisa Low

Calling a Wolf a Wolf, by Kaveh Akbar

A Map of My Want, by Faylita Hicks

Pilgrim Bell, by Kaveh Akbar

Pisces Urges, by Czaerra Galicinao Ucol

Karaoke at the End of the World, by Genevieve DeGuzman

1919, by Eve L. Ewing

Electric Arches, by Eve L. Ewing

So off we go on the Good Ship Poetry. If anyone has any advice for me, I'm all ears. 

If you're like me and want to learn more about poetry, my employer, StoryStudio Chicago, has several upcoming poetry events and workshops, both online and in person. Check 'em out here. 

Telegraph Avenue, by Michael Chabon: Sussing Out the Sublots Like Pynchon

Here in Chicago, an independent bookstore recently closed due in part to a sharp drop in sales when a new Barnes & Noble opened on the same block. People (me, included) were pissed. A big corporate conglomerate had pushed out another small business, accelerated the neighborhood's already out-of-control gentrification, and damaged the character of the neighborhood.

But other people were (and are) excited. The two-story store is located in a historic building and adds charm and economic oomph to the neighborhood, they say. Plus, the selection of books is much better. 

A similar battle rages in Michael Chabon's 2012 novel, Telegraph Avenue. Archy and Nat are long-time owners of Brokeland Records, a used vinyl shop in an iconic neighborhood in Oakland. But a rich retired football player wants to open a big-ass megastore complete with a similar record shop just down the street from theirs. If that happens, they're doomed. 

So this long novel is about Archy and Nat trying to figure out what's important to them. There are subplots galore -- their wives are partners in a midwifery business, Archy learns he has a 14-year-old son, Nat's son is in love with Archy's "new" son, Archy's 70s blaxploitation movie star father has reentered the picture and past deeds are coming to light. And more. 

The conflict between Team Brokeland Records and Team NFL Star is fertile ground for conflict, but Chabon doesn't spend much time there. Instead, he spends probably way too much time sussing out all the strands of subplot. It gets to be almost Pynchonian in the zany interconnections and off-the-wall characters and comedy. 

Also like Pynchon: Chabon is a maximalist normally, which I can hang with. I don't mind when a writer uses 100 words when two will do, if those 100 words are entertaining. But in this novel, more often than not, those 100 words drag a little. (The critic Ron Charles said something like it felt like Chabon was being paid by the word and had an impending mortgage balloon payment. 😅) It's a dense novel and it doesn't move quickly at all. 

Fun fact: I got an ARC of this novel at the 2012 Book Expo America show in NYC....and it's sat on my shelf ever since. Part of the reason it's sat for 14 years is because of some of the warnings from earlier reviews of its denseness. They weren't wrong. 

But I'm glad I finally read it. It occasionally reminded me how good Chabon is when he's on. And it's been a decade since his last novel (Moonglow) so even though I'm in agreement with most readers that this one doesn't stack up to some of his better novels -- most notably, The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (a masterpiece) -- it was still fun (at times) to jump back on the Chabon bandwagon.

So Old, So Young, by Grant Ginder: I'll Be There For You (Probably)

One of the most fun parts -- and there are a lot of fun parts -- of reading Grant Ginder's new novel, So Old, So Young, about a group of college friends through 20 years of love, life, loss, and partying, is trying to figure out which of these characters you most identify with. Are you a Mia or a Sasha? A Marco or an Adam?

Yes, this is one of those "friends-through-the-years" stories I love so much, and I must say, it's a paragon of the genre in how relatable it feels. What makes it so interesting is that it's centered on five particular parties/gatherings/reunions over the course of two decades -- from 2004 to through 2024 -- of this college friend-group. You'd think this would make the novel feel episodic -- like we're just checking in on these people once every couple years. But a strength of this book is that it is a master class on how to integrate backstory. All of these characters' stories feel whole -- like we didn't miss anything by not seeing them for a couple years.

And further, each character feels full formed, unique from the others, and absolutely fascinating. Ginder takes great pains to convince us to empathize with every one of these people in different ways. For instance, he got me to care about a wealthy, adulterous, "purposefully busy," suburban mom -- and I can tell you, THAT is no small feat. 😅

Through the years, these characters fall in and out of touch, fight and reconcile, harbor grudges against each other, and develop rivalries with their friends' new friends. Basically, life.

But Ginder gets all of those so right. His eye for detail is thorough and his rendering of how relationships evolve is insightful and true. A character struggling with a decision at one point thinks about how each decision she makes cuts future possibilities in half, and the older you get, the more decisions you make, the fewer future possibilities you have, and how do you even go on living with such a depressing thought? The answer: You find something you love.  

And speaking of love, the main throughline is Mia and Marco, a pair who meet on New Year's Eve in the first pages of the novel. They date. Then they don't. And the rest of the novel is about will they or won't they again. 

My advice is to first read this terrific book. Then, send it to your college friend group and fire up the group chat about which character you all think you are. And then hope you're still all friends. 😅

Read More Short Stories! Here Are 12 of My Favorite Collections

Lauren Groff's new short story collection, Brawler, comes out Feb. 24. It'll almost certainly be in my top 5 favorite books of the year when we wrap this here 2026 in about 10 months. Brawler is nine stories -- each more brilliant than the last. And the anchor for the collection is a story titled "Annunciation" which was in the Best Short Stories of 2023, and is my of-late no-hesitation answer in the (very rare) event that someone asks me about my favorite short story. It's a story that comes at you waves, much like the collection as a whole. Anyway...read Brawler when it's out. It's fantastic.

Brawler is so good, in fact, it got me thinking about some of my other favorite short story collections from the last decade or so. So I made a list. Enjoy! 

Tenth of December, by George Saunders -- When I read this collection more than a decade ago, it was the first time I'd read Saunders. I promptly read just about everything else the man has written, because, I mean, once you find a writer with whom you connect, connection soon becomes obsession. And yes, I'm obsessed with how George Saunders writes stories (and novels) of philosophical complexity and the sliding scale of morality in a dearth of words. 

The Tsar of Love and Techno, by Anthony Marra -- I waver between this collection (Is this a novel? It's interconnected short stories. That's a whole 'nother post.) and the one above as my favorite of all time. Russians and Chechens and a painting and life imitating art (or vice versa). This is a paragon of craft. 

Get in Trouble, by Kelly Link -- It's hard to remember a time before Kelly Link was a household name (at least among book nerds), but this is the collection that did it. Inventive, quirky, off-the-wall, funny as hell. 

Friday Black, by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah -- Before Adjei-Brenvah scalded our brains with his debut novel, Chain Gang All-Stars, this story collection gave us a glimpse of his genius. Every story in this collection is fantastic, but the story "Light Spitter" about a school shooter named Fuckton who has regrets has haunted my soul since I first read it in 2015. And the story "Zimmer Land" about an amusement park in which racists can role play shooting people who are just existing while Black is sadly even more powerful now than it was in the direct aftermath of George Zimmerman. 

Music for Wartime, by Rebecca Makkai -- What stood out to me most about this lyrical collection is Makkai's ability to draw the reader in, set the scene, and create intrigue, all in a first line. 

Bliss Montage, by Ling Ma -- Whenever I talk about this book, I always tie myself in knots trying to explain what I think Ma is doing with these brilliant stories. It's something like this: In these stories, she's creating a fantastic, metaphysical element – like an invisibility drug or 100 ex-boyfriends living in the same house as the narrator – and using that element to create a literal representation of the symbolic point she’s making with the rest of the story, like alienation, ghosts of our past, or needing to escape. Does that make any sense? No? Well, then you'll just have to read it! 

Beneath the Bonfire, by Nickolas Butler -- Same warmth and empathy as in Butler's novels, but in these shorter pieces. Still uber-Midwestern. Still a delight. 

Craft: Stories I Wrote for the Devil, by Ananda Lima -- Another "collection" that is maybe actually a novel. This collection combines the realistic (the story about the writing workshop, "Idle Hands") with the fantastical. Lima, like Ma, also literalizes the metaphysical to make a point -- and it's so much fun to read. 

Florida, by Lauren Groff -- When you pick up any piece of writing by Lauren Groff, you can be pretty sure it's going to be excellent. Several of the stories in this collection have the same (or a similar?) narrator -- a mother who is a writer. Hmmm....

A Visit From the Goon Squad, by Jennifer Egan -- I mean, right?! Reading this book was one of those eye-opening experiences when I thought, Oh my god, so THIS is what fiction can do. "Time's a goon, right? You gonna let that goon push you around?"

Single, Carefree, Mellow, by Katherine Heiny -- This book is an example of why you ALWAYS read the recommendations of other readers whose opinions you trust (this one came from one of my bookseller colleagues soon after RoscoeBooks opened). This very good collection is about a lot of very bad people. But it's also very funny.

Half Wild, by Robin MacArthur -- An instance of book serendipity -- at BEA 2016, I was waiting in line to see Richard Russo, and MacArthur's table was next to his, and no one was waiting, and the publicist called out, "Hey who likes short stories?" and I like short stories, so I stopped by to meet her and pick up this ARC. Ninety-nine out of 100 times, the book would've sat untouched among the dozens of other BEA books, but something about this spoke to me. And I'm so glad I read it. The stories are mostly about characters in rural settings struggling to connect with the modern world. Timely and so well-crafted! 

We Are Losing Our Bookish Institutions at An Alarming Rate: What Can We Do to Help?

I am mad as hell. And I'm also heartbroken. And so I feel compelled to write -- almost literally the only thing that makes me feel less helpless. 

We are losing our bookish institutions at a terrifyingly alarming rate.

Like many of you, I absorbed the news today that Bond Villain Bezos is shuttering the Books section of the Washington Post with a mixture of sadness and rage. What an absolute gut punch! The Washington Post published one of the few remaining robust sections of literary criticism...and now it's gone, just like that. 

Amazon, which Bezos also owns, just spent upwards of $75 million to fund and market a piece of pure regime propaganda about the first lady, which it had to know was not going to make even a quarter of that investment back. Priorities made clear. (I had huge rant here trying to understand why a fucking billionaire is allowed to own a newspaper in the first place, but I deleted it when I revised so we could move on.)

Beloved book critic Ron Charles was one of those laid off. His weekly Book Club newsletter was a highlight of every Friday morning for me. And his criticism was as smart and funny as any writing on any topic out there. I'm not exaggerating when I say he is my all-time favorite book critic. (Yes, book nerds have favorite book critics like normal people have favorite athletes.) He's out of a job. Because of a billionaire trying "cut the fat" from his business. (A silver lining: Charles posted on his Substack that he's not going away, and I look forward to reading him anywhere he goes.) 

Here in Chicago, that news came on the same day that we learned a literary institution here, Open Books, is closing one of its bookstores. Thankfully, there are two more and it sounds like the organization, which does truly amazing work to promote literacy in the city and beyond, is basically taking steps to ensure its long-term health so that it doesn't have to close everything. But on top of the Books section news, this just felt especially sad. 

And further, Chicago also just lost Volumes Bookcafe, a long-time Wicker Park institution. Volumes was the victim of a few headwinds, not the least of which was a giant Barnes & Noble opening just down the street from them.

Add to these emboldened book banning efforts, the closing of the Kennedy Center for "renovations", and just the general anti-art and anti-intellectual atmosphere these days perpetuated that fascist regime. Anyone with expertise is not to be trusted and anyone with an education has been somehow "indoctrinated."

It all just feels like so, so much. The world feels so impossibly heavy these days. 

We need some good news. We need to CREATE our own good news. 

So here are some suggestions. These aren't exactly earth-shattering. But even as I wrote them, I thought, these are always good reminders.

1) Of course, buy books from independent bookstores. But also, go to events at these stores. Subscribe to their newsletters, and share them if you can. Tell your friends and family when a store does something particularly well, like donating money to anti-ICE organizations or donating books to literary organizations. 

2) Of course, subscribe to newspapers, magazines, and other journalistic entities doing good work. But also, help them by sharing their work. Highlight a piece you found particularly interesting. Buy products from the good companies that advertise with them and tell those companies why you bought their product. Subscribe to their newsletters. Tell them when they wrote something you liked. 

3) Of course, if you're able, donate money to organizations like Authors Against Book Bans. But also, donate your time to these organizations fighting like hell for our right to read. Print out posters and spend and afternoon hanging them in coffee shops and parks in your neighborhood. Read about book ban legislation and share with family and friends in those areas. Ask them to help you fight. 

4) Of course, CONTINUE TO READ BOOKS. But also, continue to read widely and diversely. Step outside your reading comfort zone frequently. Give something new and different a chance. And tell people when you love something.

Hang in there, friends. We'll get through this. Maybe broken and wounded. But we'll heal.

Happy 30th Birthday, Infinite Jest!

Even if you don't know me personally, if you know I'm a Gen-X dude who loves literary fiction, you could probably safely infer that Infinite Jest is a foundational text for me. And you'd be right. Don't worry, I'm not here to rehash my long history with the novel (you can read a little more about that in this post if you're interested) and you certainly don't need a plot summary or discussion of prominent themes. 

Instead, as the novel turns 30 years old (published Feb. 1, 1996), I wanted to commemorate this moment and talk about two things:

1) Quickly, my experience reading the novel for a second time late last year.

2) More importantly, Hermione Hoby's absolutely WONDERFUL essay in the New Yorker, “Infinite Jest” Has Turned Thirty. Have We Forgotten How to Read It?

First...people saying: Wow, you re-read a 1,079-page novel? Are you f#$king insane? Haha. Yes. Yes, I am. But I had help this time -- a bunch of book nerd friends and I read the novel as a group last fall. Of course, yes I noticed a ton I missed previously. Of course, yes, it was a totally different novel 17 years after the first time I'd read it -- not because the novel changed but because I did, and the world did. And of course, yes, I still loved it. (Here is a short post on the re-read, if you're interested.)

Sure, a small part of me was a little anxious that it wouldn't live up to the hype in my own brain the second time. I needn't have feared.

And that brings us to Hermione Hoby's New Yorker piece. When I first saw the image of a young DFW and the headline implying we've lost the ability to read long and difficult books, I was like "great, another DFW takedown piece. Groundbreaking." But it is exactly the opposite. Hoby FEROCIOUSLY defends not just the novel, but also its length, complexity, and even DFW's exalted status, and the silly trend toward demonizing DFW fans. 

I loved her piece, and would encourage you to go read it. And though I understand the tl;dr irony of picking out a few passages from a long essay defending a long novel, here are four parts of Hoby's piece I thought were particularly great. 

1. On reading Infinite Jest after DFW died by suicide, which was my experience, as well -- and how that couldn't help but shade Hoby's reading of the novel: 

Death casts an ennobling sheen on any writer, but especially on one who, to use another “Infinite Jest”-ism, eliminated his own map—a coinage that tells us something about Wallace’s aversion to treacly solemnity, even the trace amount present in the euphemism “took his own life.”

2. Yes, Infinite Jest is inarguably male-coded and male-centric. Hoby writes that, as one small piece of evidence of this, the two female main characters -- Avril Incandenza and Joelle Van Dyen -- are both absolute smoke shows. But Hoby also notes that the 30th anniversary edition of Infinite Jest includes a forward by Michelle Zauner (of Crying in H-Mart and Japanese Breakfast fame). And also, Hoby herself loved it, despite the fact she's not "supposed to." 

Encountering the novel in my twenties, I was unaware that I was committing a form of gender treason; I knew only that little or nothing I’d read had come close in terms of sheer pleasure. The book had more brio, heart, and humor than I thought possible on the page. It was bizarrely grotesque and howlingly sad; it was sweet, silly, and vertiginously clever. 

3. I've spent the last 20 years telling anyone who will listen that I love DFW's writing because he's the perfect mix of the high- and low-brow. Hoby puts it even better: 

The blend of brainy and base is typical Wallace. Here is a guy anxious to assure you that he may have produced a Dostoyevskian work of profligate genius, but he’s also just a regular dumbass like you.

4. Finally, here is Hoby's case for reading fiction generally, but Infinite Jest specifically...and especially why reading is important now. This is SO well said.

His great novel proposed that the compulsive, addictive character of America, not least its addiction to entertainment, could best be resisted through the engaged reading of fiction. Here is a book about addiction that offers itself as a kind of counter-addiction, an example of the compounding value of sustained attention. The infamous length of “Infinite Jest” is, in this sense, a central feature of its ethic: not bigness as brag but duration as discipline.

RIP, DFW. 

Vigil, by George Saunders: A Life, Examined...

The mark of a truly magnificent writer is the ability to take a tried-and-true trope and give it fresh life. In his new novel, Vigil, George Saunders makes the Christmas Carol story of examining a life poorly lived feel fully original. Therefore, George Saunders is a magnificent writer.

Few would dispute that conclusion, is my guess. I certainly would not. And Vigil is magnificent, too. Vigil is a short novel about many things -- but perhaps most notably, it's about coming to terms with mortality, looking back on your life, and simply asking yourself (or, in this case, being forced to answer by a liminal being tasked with ushering you into the afterlife), "How did I do?" 

The fellow being forced to examine his life is an oil executive named KJ Boone who spent his career funding and spreading climate change misinformation. For Boone (a fictional stand-in for T. Boone Pickens?), who made money hand over fist selling pollution, protecting his company and his own wealth meant "refuting" all the evidence that how he spent his life's work was innately harmful. But as he's lying on his deathbed, and Jill "Doll" Blaine is summoned to usher him into the next life, he's confronted with the harm, death, and destruction his company has caused, as well as the truth that, yes, climate change is in fact real. Will he repent?

So yes, Vigil is also Saunders's take on an environmental (political?) novel. 

Environmentalists are often derided by critics as acting with the same zeal and fervor as religious fundamentalists. But what if environmentalism being like religion is actually a good thing? If one of the "benefits" of religion is that it gives people hope, what could be more hopeful than the idea that the planet is still worth saving? What could be more beneficial than true faith in the beauty and dignity of Mother Earth? 

And further, if environmentalism is a religion, can it also be a vehicle for death-bed conversions? And thus, to find the answer to this question is why we rip through this slim novel: Will this asshole Boone have a moment of clarity at the end? And if he has a moment of clarity at the end, will he, with his last breaths, try to make amends for all the damage he's done? Or will he dig in further? 

This novel calls to mind one of my favorite 2020-election era jokes. Two MAGAts die and, for some reason, get to go heaven. At the pearly gates, they encounter St. Peter, who asks them if they have any questions before entering paradise. One MAGAt glances at the other, and then says to St. Peter, "So, who reeaaaalllly won the 2020 election?" St. Peter, without hesitation, tells them: "Joe Biden." Both MAGAt snort-laugh, and the other one says, "Wow, this conspiracy goes even higher than we thought."

Vigil is also about the idea of being willing to change your mind when presented with new information. Human nature makes us not good at this. BUT, the better we learn to be at processing ideas and evidence that contradict what we previously thought, and adjusting our opinions accordingly, the better humans we can be.

So yes, there is a LOT going on in Vigil's 172 pages. It's quirky and funny, it's profound and sad, and magnificently imaginative. I really loved it! 

New Dork Review's Most Anticipated Books of 2026

A new bookish year is upon us and it promises to be a banger. Anytime you get a new George Saunders in January, that portends a pretty good reading year. Plus, Colson Whitehead, Ann Patchett, Dave Eggers, Richard Russo, and a lot more. 

The list of 14 books below is, of course, hardly a complete list -- I tried to make my list a mix of the "big" books of 2026 and the ones with special interest for me, personally. If you want a more complete list, check the Chicago Review of Books, or Lit Hub, or Book Riot. 

Quick note: This is your annual reminder that The New Dork Review of Books is and will always be free. But if you want to help support my tiny corner of the internet, preorder any of these books from the Bookshop affiliate links. I get a small (legal) kickback and it also immensely helps the authors.

Anyway...here's my list of 14 great upcoming books: 

Football, by Chuck Klosterman (January 20) -- Who better than one of our best cultural critics to write about our (crazy?) cultural obsession. (🐻⬇️)  

Vigil, by George Saunders (January 27) -- Another slim novel from Saunders with a wild treatment of the liminal space between life and death? YES YES! There isn't a single "most anticipated" list that hasn't included this book. 

Kin, by Tayari Jones (February 24) -- If you read and loved An American Marriage, and I did, this book must also be on your most anticipated list. 

Brawler: Stories, by Lauren Groff (February 24) -- Gotta maintain my Lauren Groff Completist status. 

For the Love of the Grind, by Sarah Hall (April 21) -- Woohoo, after last year's book from Keira D'Amato, we get a memoir this year from another top-tier marathoner. I'm here for any and all running books, and what a great title! 

This Is Not About Running, by Mary Cain (April 28) -- This is yet another tell-all book (sad that there has to be more than one, much less several) about the abuse at the Nike Oregon Project under disgraced coach Alberto Salazar. I'll read every single one of them, and continue to be inspired by these athletes. 

How We See the Gray, by Rachel León (May 15) -- Rachel is a friend and colleague at the Chicago Review of Books, and this is her debut novel. Rachel is tremendous writer, interviewer, and book reviewer, a fierce advocate for indie presses, and a passionate and astute literary citizen. But I've never had the privilege to read her fiction -- so I cannot WAIT for her novel! 

Whistler, by Ann Patchett (June 2) -- This may be a book I take a long summer read-cation day and just absorb in a sitting or two. I love Ann Patchett's writing so much, and this story about "bravery, memory, the often small yet consequential moments that define our lives" sounds like Wheelhouse Ann.

Contrapposto, by Dave Eggers (June 9) -- Tomorrow, Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, but make it Eggers! That's what this novel sounds like: Two art students spend their lives together in friendship and love and everything in between. 

We Will See You Bleed, by Ron Currie (July 7) -- Babs is back! This book is a prequel to one of my favorite 2025 books, The Savage, Noble Death of Babs Dionne. Babs of course died at the end of that one (not a spoiler, it's in the title), but she's back running Waterville, Maine several decades earlier in this new installment.

Man Overboard!, by Kathleen Rooney (July 7) -- Chicago author Rooney has written about a sentient messenger pigeon, a rapacious oil company, a fierce woman walking around New York City, and more, and they're all absolutely fascinating. RANGE! This book is about a college swimmer who falls off a cruise ship and contemplates his life. Quirky and fun!  

Tenderness, Rowan Beaird (July 21) -- Beaird's debut The Divorcées was such a fun book. Really looking forward to what she's up to next with this novel about a 1970s wedding on a small island. 

Cool Machine, by Colson Whitehead (July 21) -- Don't you love it when the title of a novel also describes its author. 😎 With this book ,Whitehead wraps up the brilliant Ray Carney Harlem Trilogy. I may go back and read the first two again this summer -- they're sooo good. 

Under the Falls, by Richard Russo (August 11) -- Russo is a "phone book" author for me, so of course I'm going to read his new novel, and his first standalone book in a while, about a crime in a small town.