In “The Pharaoh Key,” Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child pick up with Gideon Crew who learns that his medical condition and its associated death sentence continue to hang over his head. Meanwhile, his former employer – Eli Glinn, of Effective Engineering Solutions – has shut down the company following their most recent mission. Gideon and his coworker, Manuel Garza, are given the chance to clear out the remainder of their property from the office. Garza fumes over the unceremonious end to their jobs while Gideon feels apathetic. They learn that a computer program recently decrypted the Phaistos Disc, an ancient object with unknown writing and symbols. Thinking that it holds the secret to a treasure and wanting some last measure of security, Garza and Gideon heist the translation and plan an expedition to recover and sell whatever treasure the disc leads them to. They travel to a remote region of Egypt and find more and more complications, from disasters surrounding their means of travel to a compelling Lara Croft-type character named Imogen Blackburn to the discovery of an extant Coptic village in a mist valley cut off from the outside world. The story is a great adventure story from Preston & Child, masters of the thriller. They instantly drop the reader in the adventure, making them care about these characters while they take them from cliffhanger to cliffhanger. The story has a great MacGuffin that works well as a main subject for the quest while Imogen Blackburn nicely balances out the Gideon-Garza dynamic. Even as the twists and turns resemble an adventure serial, Preston & Child keep the reader involved and pay off their MacGuffin in a satisfying way. David W. Collins does an admirable job reading the story, creating distinct voices for each character with particular emphasis on Garza’s NYC accent. The story will appeal to fans of Gideon Crew and to Preston & Child’s writing.

In “Docile: Memoirs of a Not-So-Perfect Asian Girl,” Hyeseung Song describes her life immigrating to Texas from Korea as a young child, growing up in poverty even while her family expects her to succeed. Her family struggles early on due to her father’s various failed business ideas and they only gain some security when her mother gets a job. The financial insecurity combined with her parents’ vastly different personalities leads to domestic violence, further adding to Hyeseung’s sense of uncertainty. Over time, she begins to make friends and find success at school, but her parents’ strict expectations leave her feeling adrift in her own home. She writes, “You learned love was entirely conditional, and you could vanish – even to your own mother – at any moment” (p. 72). Even getting into Princeton and succeeding at her classes isn’t enough to allay her feelings of displacement. Hyeseung writes, “Pinning everything on the nail of achievement had meant that failure was death and life was small. Ultimately, I had suffered anyway and my belief in this ontological structure had faltered” (p. 125). In her philosophy studies, Hyeseung found a way to describe what had been bothering her. She writes, “Descartes had devoted his life to locating contradictions and striking those that turned out to be false, in order to see if science were possible. But I wanted to know if I in any consistent way were possible. The solution up until then had been to amass achievement visible in both cultures, pursue a workable synthesis of beliefs, and shift my behavior depending on the local culture, while trying not to disappear through it all” (p. 165). Describing her mounting mental health struggles and how she perceived them during her combined law degree and philosophy PhD studies, Hyeseung writes, “My self-worth was tied to Work, as if Work were a star. Work and Worth were bound together and if one fell, then the other did, too” (p. 202). She links this to the added stress of her immigrant background and feelings of dual identities between her American and Korean cultural heritages, but this sense of self-worth will resonate with nearly anyone who has pursued graduate studies, particularly if their family treated their success or failure at these studies as reflective of the family’s worth. Hyeseung concludes, “In my life, I had tried to be a great daughter, a great student, a great wife, an American, a Korean, even a great artist – and through these pursuits, I had always chased an ought, forgetting to revel in what I actually already was” (p. 288). Song’s book will resonate with anyone who has felt torn between identities or struggled with their mental health. In particular, those with extensive experience in academia cannot help but find themselves in her words. Her honest narrative is a moving read for anyone who finds themselves feeling lost without the words to articulate the feeling.

Meg Cabot’s “Black Canary: Ignite” features art by Cara McGee, colors by Caitlin Quirk, and letters by Clayton Cowles. The story focuses on a middle-school-aged Dinah Lance who plays in a band with her friends Kat Van Dorn and Vee Ramirez. Dinah wants to eventually become a police officer like her father, but he worries about her as she begins showing signs of having powers when she can break things with her voice. Meanwhile, a mysterious figure lurks nearby observing her as a villain from Dinah’s mother’s past returns. Cabot delightfully introduces the Black Canary to a new generation of readers in this reimagining of the character. The story resembles the magical girl genre of manga, though with elements of punk rock akin to Marvel’s “Spider-Gwen.” McGee’s illustrations and Quirk’s colors perfectly match the energy of the story. This would be a fun book for DC fans to give to their younger children as well as to read themselves.

Chris Lintott’s “Accidental Astronomy: How Random Discoveries Shape the Science of Space” examines several cases in which astronomers and others stumbled across major scientific discoveries while working on unrelated projects, thereby changing our understanding of the universe in the process. He writes, “Astronomers like being surprised, to wallow for the moment in the sense that there is more to understand. It’s a different feeling, utterly, from the way that science and scientific progress are often portrayed on screen or in print” (p. 17). His examples include the accidental discovery of cryovolcanoes on Saturn’s moon Enceladus and how they might reveal the possibility of life on other bodies in our solar system. Further, the random discovery of interstellar objects passing through our solar system like ‘Oumuamua and Borisov provide the opportunity to learn more about how other solar systems evolve and interact with each other (p. 92). Meteorite samples collected on Earth and compared with future sample-return missions from asteroids may help answer questions such as, “Was the formation of the Earth, or a planet something like ours, the inevitable consequence of the physics and chemistry that operate around stars like our Sun while they are still forming, or was our planet and our subsequent history on it nothing more than a lucky chance born from chaos?” (p. 122). The discovery of phosphine on Venus, a compound normally found only in organic reactions such as occur in the digestive tracts of penguins on Earth, shows how “trusting in chance turns out to be a good idea, even when we turn our telescopes and imagination to the Universe beyond our Solar System and look out at the cosmos” (p. 164). Similarly, the choice to take a deep field photograph with Hubble turned out to reveal entirely new information about the formation of the galaxy and “creates a connection to the past, making it seem very present” (p. 183). The tinkering of Karl Jansky in Holmdel, NJ while trying to clear up static on the Bell Telephone lines gave birth to modern radio astronomy (p. 194). Similarly, Robert Wilson and Arno Penzias, also working for Bell Laboratories in Holmdel, discovered the cosmic microwave background radiation in their experiments (p. 227-229). Finally, Lintott notes how simple yet thorough observation of the night sky as in the Galaxy Zoo project returns to him “the joy of serendipity in [his] research” (p. 263). Lintott describes his purpose in writing this book: “These stories help me resolve how I feel about my place in the cosmos, and by telling them to you I hope that I can show you how we are trying to understand it. I hope to encourage you to spend a little bit of time contemplating the cosmos too. I want to share how science actually operates, with all the excitement and confusion and randomness that it entails” (p. 19). He more than succeeds in that goal, with his joy at discovery and humor in presentation making this material accessible to experts and newcomers alike. Indeed, Lintott’s book is a good introduction for those with some prior awareness of astronomy who want to know more about the process from an affable expert.

Literally the worst book. The plot was all over the place with spelling and grammar issues throughout.

Joe Sacco’s “Paying the Land” tells the story of the Dene around the Mackenzie River Valley, whose livelihoods are threatened by the oil, gas, and diamond industries in the Canadian Northwest Territories. Industrial and economic changes transform the landscape while dividing communities between traditionalists, those who embrace the new systems, and people who remain conflicted but undecided. Elements of the environmental story and its impact on the locals resemble Kate Beaton’s recent book, “Ducks,” though the indigenous perspective sets “Paying the Land” apart. Sacco interviews members of the Dene in order to bring their words to the world. In addition to the costs of resource exploitation, Sacco recounts how the residential school system represented an institutional effort to destroy First Nations cultures (pg. 121-149). Like his other graphic novel journalism projects, Sacco acknowledges the observer’s paradox and how his entry into these communities and interviews only capture his own perspective or others’ perspectives filtered through him and the limitations that process involves. He notes that his interviews are another form of extraction similar to the oil industry on Dene land (p. 107). He also acknowledges that processing First Nations’ experiences through a western medium can repeat – albeit on a smaller scale – the cultural genocide of the residential schools and their efforts to force Euro-Canadian culture upon the Dene. Despite these concerns and his somewhat disarming portrayal of himself in a self-deprecating manner reminiscent of R. Crumb or Harvey Pekar, he strives to illuminate stories that might not receive as much attention in the standard press. Sacco concludes with a look at different efforts for decolonization work that members of the Dene are undertaking. The result is the type of work that Sacco’s readers expect and that sheds light on the lingering effects of colonization.

In Gene Luen Yang’s “Saints,” the second volume of his “Boxers & Saints,” he parallels the first story by focusing on the fourth daughter of a family who desperately seeks her family’s approval and love. Dubbed “Four Girl,” she believes herself to be a devil and contorts her face accordingly in public. Her family takes her to an acupuncturist where she first becomes aware of Christianity, eventually converting and taking the name Vibiana. Her work in the church shows her a different side of the changes occurring in China as a result of colonial interests. They bring her into conflict with Bao’s group. Yang ends this volume with an epilogue for both. Like the previous volume, he uses magical realism to show how the Boxer Rebellion was a clash between belief systems and how easily a movement can become subject to its most extreme members. “Saints” is a great introduction to the topic for newcomers and Yang includes a guide to further reading in the back, though it should be read alongside its companion book, “Boxers”.

Paul Jenkins’ “Wolverine: Origin” collects issues #1-6 of the comic of the same name written by Bill Jemas and Joe Quesada with pencils by Andy Kubert, digital paint by Richard Isanove, and letters by John Roshell, Wes Abbott, Oscar Gongorra, and Saida Temofonte. Prior to publication, bits and pieces of Wolverine’s history had been revealed in Chris Claremont’s tenure on “Uncanny X-Men” and beyond, with Weapon X, Department H, Logan’s time in Japan, and some adventures in World War II being the most well-known. Jenkins, Jemas, and Quesada take Wolverine all the way back to the beginning, revealing that he was born James Howlett, the son of a wealthy Canadian family in early-nineteenth-century Albert. His family haunted by tragedy, James’ powers awaken the night his family dies with his claws appearing and his wounds healing quicker than normal in the following days. Taking the name Logan as he flees with his companion, a redhaired Irish girl named Rose, Jenkins, Jemas, and Quesada imply that his memory issues partly result from the early trauma of his powers manifesting in addition to whatever Weapon X and Department H did decades later. In addition to his powers and the name of Logan, his experiences on the run with Rose also gives him his nom de guerre of Wolverine as he digs in the mountains and mines of British Columbia’s northern frontier (part V). The story ends with more questions than answers, but it was bold in exploring Wolverine’s earliest years when previous writers had embraced the ambiguity of his past, casting him in a similar mold to the Man with No Name from Sergio Leone’s Dollars Trilogy. The success of this story coupled with Wolverine’s continuing popularity led to a spin-off, “Origin II,” and an ongoing series, “Wolverine: Origins.” The story itself is well-crafted and Kuberts pencils with Isanove’s colors perfectly evoke nineteenth-century images like those that accompanied Mark Twain’s writing, Mathew Brady’s photography, or the images in Harper’s Weekly. “Origin” is essential reading for any Wolverine fan and elements of the story even made it into the opening sequence of Gavin Hood’s 2009 film, “X-Men: Origins – Wolverine.” This edition also includes afterwords by Jenkins, Jemas, and Quesada, story and scripting discussions, and art breakdowns by Isanove.

James Sturm and Joe Sutphin’s adaptation of Richard Adams’ “Watership Down.” The story faithfully retells the tale of a group of rabbits who seek a new home following the destruction of their warren, encountering other creatures, rabbits from different warrens, and elements of the human world that take on monstrous forms in the minds of the rabbits. The rabbits have their own mythology, though the allegory of their adventures was inspired by Adams’ experiences in the Battle of Arnhem in 1944. Sturm and Sutphin’s adaptation uses the graphic medium to visually capture the scale of the rabbits’ world as well as their emotions. Their adaptation will serve as a nice introduction to new readers or a supplementary volume for teachers incorporating “Watership Down” into their classroom syllabi.

Devin Grayson and Becca Farrow’s adaptation of Tamora Pierce’s “First Test: Protector of the Small – Book 1” faithfully adapts the first book of Pierce’s third Tortall quartet. The story introduces Keladry of Mindelan, who trains as a knight a decade after the events of the “Song of the Lioness” quartet in which Alanna trained and Jonathan of Conté made it legal for girls to train. Kel faces an uphill battle from the beginning with an added probationary period which other pages need not pass, though she seeks Lord Wyldon’s approval. Her sponsor, Nealan, sponsors her in the training and helps her learn the unofficial rules of training. Along the way, Kel discovers that she has a secret benefactor and makes friends while she challenges the systemic bullying at the school. Each of Pierce’s Tortall quartets may be read on their own and this works as an easy entry point for new readers, though some prior familiarity with “Song of the Lioness” and “Immortals” will help readers appreciate the world that Pierce built. “First Test” may appeal the most to new readers’ tastes, however, and what they expect from YA fantasy. Grayson’s adaptation honors the original text while taking into consideration the areas in which the art will tell the story. Farrow brilliantly compliments Pierce and Grayson’s writing with distinctive character designs and great visual world-building. Her art and Grayson’s adaptation will introduce new readers to Pierce’s writing and enhance their appreciation of Tortall. The book concludes with Farrow’s character sketches and a glossary of medieval and fantasy terms for newcomers. I look forward to Grayson and Farrow continuing to adapt the other books in the “Protector of the Small” quartet.