In the time since I could be called a “young adult,” the books given that label have gotten…rougher. Take Hatchet, for instance. I remember Brian Robeson eating turtle eggs and making a raft. Fast forward to today, where Circe’s protagonist is taunted by her sister as she cuts into her womb to fish out a voracious monster. Even with this apparent maturation, I’m still apt to dismiss the genre as juvenile.

Inspired to read more about contemporary AAPI experiences, I had plenty of great options to choose from. Among the most well-received of them, Beautiful Country stood out because I could relate to some small aspect of the author’s circumstances (we were the same age in the same region of the same country) and because she experienced American sweatshops firsthand. While those did indeed turn out to be relevant signals, the book delivered so much more than I bargained for.

Dandelion Wine revels in the American tradition of summer vacation, making it a comforting book for the beginning of the season, and its structure (short stories with a simple frame) satisfies the conventional hunger for light reads in lazy times. Each time I read it, Bradbury’s contagious nostalgia minimizes the years and miles between my childhood and Douglas Spaulding’s1. This time around, I wondered whether it would be compelling to folks whose upbringing was still more distant.

Contrary to my self-image as a discerning anime fan, I picked up Odd Taxi based only on the faintest of Internet whispers and a handful of images. This approach probably wouldn’t work for slow-burn series, but Odd Taxi peacocks plenty of its strengths from the very beginning. For one, it boasts the most inviting character design of any anime I can bring to mind. Every one of the characters–anthropomorphized animals, all–is rendered with a playful sense of anatomy and an Inafune-like balance of simplicity and legibility.

The Uses of Haiti is a harrowing testament to how imperialism has repeatedly subverted the first Black republic over the course of its 200-year history. Although author Paul Farmer rejects the title of historian, he adeptly weaves together so many ways Haitians’ lives are tied up in the affairs of far-off places. He even considers Nicaraguan and Salvadoran history (albeit in much-abridged form) to help explain the patterns of imperialism.

I must have been about halfway through The Bradbury Chronicles when I finally recognized, geez, this biographer really had his work cut out for him. Ray Bradbury famously embodied the imagination, playfulness, and eccentricity which made his work so successful. Sam Weller’s struggle to subdue his subject ultimately–and unintentionally–defines the final result. He’s actually on pretty solid ground when it comes to Bradbury’s career. The book contains a ton of background on his most famous works, from individual short stories, to novels, and even collections like R is for Rocket.

Braiding Sweetgrass celebrates the beauty, the complexity, and even the generosity of nature. Robin Wall Kimmerer shares her reflections as “a traveler between scientific and traditional ways of knowing,” a perspective she experiences through a bunch of roles. As a student, she travels between Western universities and tribal gatherings across the US. As a teacher, she travels between classic research settings and immersive experiential classes. As as a community member, she travels between neighbor, ceremony participant, and volunteer.

Among the many rhythm games that dominated the late 90’s and early aughts, Amplitude was the only one that hooked me. I sank hours into Harmonix’s 2003 successor to Frequency and precursor to Guitar Hero. Maybe it was a “right time, right place” kind of thing, but no rhythm game before or since has felt like much more than a shiny chore. My fondness for Amplitude survived a two-generation break from gaming, and upon returning to the hobby, I found a few modern games which seemed like they could scratch that itch.

Contrary to what you might expect from its cutesy advertising, the 2017 visual novel Doki Doki Literature Club! comes with the following content warning: This game is not suitable for children or those who are easily disturbed. Having taken the bait, I can say that the work is indeed disturbing. Unfortunately, its perversion seeps into its very thesis, debasing the exhilaration it elicits. (Heads up: I’d like to discourage you from reading the thing, but I’ll have to spoil it to make my case.

Despite the positive critical response to 2013’s Depression Quest, and despite its accessibility (just an hour to complete and free-to-play in any web browser), I still felt some reluctance to give it a go. In the limited time I reserve for frivolous button-pushing, I’m more inclined to fight shadow monsters than to reflect on the experience of mental illness. Probably it would have been easier if I didn’t think of it as a game.