A Book A Week

"Look at the stars. Look how they shine for you."

At the start of the summer, I spent a day at Space Center Houston, home of the Johnson Space Center and the famed Mission Control. It was a fascinating visit, one spent soaking up the history of space exploration and touring the very place where some of humanity's greatest journeys into the cosmos were guided.

Naturally, no visit would be complete without a trip through the gift shop. As I browsed the shelves, Richard Panek's Pillars of Creation immediately caught my eye. I remembered the awe that surrounded the first images released from the James Webb Space Telescope, but beyond those stunning pictures, I realized I knew very little about how the telescope came to be or what it was actually capable of. Pillars of Creation seemed like the perfect opportunity to find out.

Panek strikes just the right balance between sharing the history of the telescope and exploring its discoveries without ever making you feel like you're reading a textbook. I had no idea how many decades of scientific work went into Webb's creation, let alone the political maneuvering required to secure enough funding from Congress to actually make it happen. It's kind of crazy to think that all of the discoveries that have come from Webb, and those still being studied today, could have been squashed by politics before the telescope ever left the ground. But hey, that's the world we live in.

Plenty of time is devoted to the people behind Webb, humanizing a subject that is admittedly out of this world in its scope. Their persistence, curiosity, and belief in what this telescope could accomplish are just as fascinating as the science itself. I came away from Pillars of Creation with a much greater understanding and appreciation for the work being done to explore our universe and the people dedicating their lives to making those discoveries possible. More than anything, the book left me wanting to keep learning, keep exploring, and, perhaps, spend a little more time looking up at the stars.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2026, 62)

It starts with a chance encounter at an airport bar.

Ted spots the stunning Lilly sitting alone, nursing a martini, and strikes up a conversation. One drink turns into two, then three, and before long the alcohol has loosened Ted's tongue. He tells Lilly all about his troubled marriage to Miranda. He's the wealthy businessman. She's the free-spirited artist who he suspects is having an affair with the contractor building their dream home. Frustrated and more than a little drunk, Ted jokingly admits that sometimes he wishes Miranda were dead.

Lilly doesn't laugh.

Instead, she calmly tells him she'd be happy to help.

It's the kind of classic setup ripped straight from Hitchcock's Strangers on a Train. But in the hands of Peter Swanson, it becomes something that feels surprisingly fresh. The Kind Worth Killing begins with the familiar premise of two strangers plotting a murder, then gradually becomes a tense game of cat-and-mouse. Shifting perspectives reveal hidden connections, buried motivations, and enough surprises to keep the story constantly one step ahead of the reader. Throw in a detective determined to untangle the truth, and you've got a novel that's nearly impossible to put down. I just had to know how all of these pieces would come together!

Sure, a few of the connections stretch believability, but I was having far too much fun to mind. I accidentally started this series with its third installment, A Talent for Murder, last year, so I knew I'd eventually work my way back to the beginning. I'm glad I did. The Kind Worth Killing works perfectly well as a standalone, but it also reminded me why Peter Swanson is one of my must-read thriller authors. It won't be long before I move on to book two.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2026, 61)

Riley is desperate for a job. Living out of her car, she answers an ad seeking a live-in caregiver for an elderly widow. The house she arrives at feels frozen in time, filled with the conveniences of the 1960s but seemingly untouched by the decades since. Its owner, Betty Sadler, is confined to a wheelchair but remains remarkably sharp. Riley can't help but notice the stack of résumés from applicants who seem far more qualified than she is. Yet an unexpected connection over a cup of Earl Grey tea leads Betty to offer her the job on the spot.

As Riley settles into the home, she begins to wonder why she was hired in the first place. Betty doesn't seem to need much care at all. She moves comfortably through the house, washes her own dishes, and even mixes nightly cocktails for the two of them to enjoy together. Betty insists she hasn't left the house in years, a claim her neighbors readily confirm. In fact, they tell Riley she's the first visitor they've seen since Betty's husband died. So why is Riley really there? What makes her different from everyone else who applied? As the secrets of Betty's past begin to surface, Riley realizes she wasn't hired to be a caregiver at all. She was brought there for a very different reason.

Sarah Pekkanen has become one of my most reliable sources for popcorn thrillers, routinely delivering a new one each summer. This year is no exception. Her latest, The Women in White, brings everything Pekkanen does best to the forefront, creating the kind of page-turner I blew through in just a few hours. Shifting timelines and perspectives, long-buried secrets, and a steady stream of twists keep the story moving with relentless momentum. In short, it's a heck of a read.

Pekkanen alternates between Riley's present-day story and flashbacks to Betty and the other titular women who participated in a series of mysterious experiments conducted by the enigmatic Dr. Trimble during the 1960s. His unsettling tests explore the bonds between the women through increasingly bizarre parapsychological experiments that blur the line between science and something far stranger. It makes for a trippy, thoroughly entertaining ride that kept me guessing right up until the final reveal. If that's not a great setup for a thriller, I don't know what is.

Sure, the novel gets a bit over the top at times, but I was more than willing to go along for the ride. My only real complaint is that the other women never feel quite as fully realized as Betty. Even so, that's a pretty minor quibble in the grand scheme of things. The Women in White is another immensely entertaining summer thriller from an author who's become one of my most dependable sources for a good read.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2026, 60)

What's cooler than being cool? Colson Whitehead may have the answer.

Over the last several years, the two-time Pulitzer Prize winner has been writing one of the finest trilogies in contemporary fiction. Through the story of furniture salesman and occasional crook Ray Carney, Whitehead's Harlem Trilogy has chronicled a changing New York City across the 1960s and '70s with equal parts wit, insight, and swagger. Earlier this week, that journey came to an end with the release of the aptly titled Cool Machine.

True to form, the novel is thoughtful, zany, and effortlessly cool. As with the previous two books in the series, Whitehead's publisher graciously provided me with a review copy. I won't bury the lead here. Cool Machine brings Ray Carney's story to a satisfying close.

It's the early 1980s, and the world looks a lot different than it did when we first met Ray Carney in Harlem Shuffle. Back then, he was a young furniture salesman trying to build a legitimate business, no small feat for a Black man in 1960s Harlem. His dream was simple. Provide a better life for his wife and children. But when honest work wasn't enough to pay the bills, and a family member found himself in over his head, Ray was pulled into the city's criminal underworld. Once he crossed that line, there was no turning back.

Now, Ray has become something of an institution in his neighborhood. His furniture store has grown from a modest storefront into the kind of place customers visit to furnish an entire home. But while Ray has found stability, Harlem continues to change around him. New buildings rise, old neighborhoods disappear, and the gap between those with money and those without only widens. On paper, Ray has everything he ever wanted. His children are grown, his business is thriving, and he's earned the respect of his community. Yet beneath that success lingers a familiar itch. The careful planning. The impossible score. The thrill of getting away with it. For a man like Ray Carney, it's awfully hard to walk away from that life for good.

Cool Machine brings Whitehead's Harlem Trilogy to a close with the same wit, energy, and exuberance that defined its opening while embracing a more reflective tone that suits Ray at this stage of life. Across three novels, he's evolved alongside Harlem itself. He began as a reluctant criminal, came to relish the thrill of the score, and now finds himself wondering whether there's still a place for him in a city that's changing faster than he is.

Whitehead weaves that quiet introspection effortlessly into the humor, action, and razor-sharp social commentary that have become hallmarks of the series. It's rare for a trilogy to entertain while also saying something meaningful about the people and places at its center, and this one accomplishes both with remarkable confidence. I'll certainly miss spending time with Ray Carney, but I have no doubt I'll be there for whatever story Colson Whitehead decides to write next. 

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2026, 59)

There's probably very little we wouldn't do for our family. For Malcolm, that means keeping watch beside his dying mother's bed during her final hours. Their relationship is...complicated, to say the least. Ask anyone in town, and they'll tell you she's a witch. Maybe that's why she's lived such an impossibly long life. Tonight, though, it's just Malcolm, his sister-in-law (his brother couldn't be bothered to show up), his dying mother, and the mysterious figure cloaked in darkness standing silently beneath a tree in the front yard.

As death draws near, Malcolm's mother makes one final request: take her body to her final resting place in Maine. There's a time limit, of course, and she warns that failing to get her there in time will have terrifying consequences. Malcolm isn't sure what to believe, but when strange things begin happening almost immediately after her death, he realizes he has little choice. Whatever his mother was, whatever she knew, her final wish may be the only thing standing between him and something far more sinister.

From its opening pages, Carry Me to My Grave immerses readers in a horror mystery shrouded in questions and unease. Who is this woman? Why is her death so consequential? Who is the shadowy figure waiting for her final breath? Christopher Golden poses these questions in a way that makes it nearly impossible to stop reading. I found myself racing through the opening chapters, desperate to understand what was happening and why.

To Golden's credit, the answers are well worth the wait. As he's done throughout much of his career, he takes a familiar corner of the horror genre and finds a fresh angle into it. I won't spoil exactly what that angle is because discovering it alongside Malcolm is one of the novel's greatest pleasures. Better still, the horror is grounded by characters grappling with complicated family dynamics, giving the story an emotional weight that keeps it from becoming mere spectacle. While Carry Me to My Grave isn't my favorite of Golden's novels, it's another atmospheric, satisfying horror story from an author who clearly understands what makes the genre tick.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2026, 58)

Paul Tremblay has built a career writing clever, terrifying horror novels like A Head Full of Ghosts, The Cabin at the End of the World, and Horror Movie. Time and again, I've been impressed by his ability to pair horror with richly drawn characters, making him one of my automatic "must-read" authors. His latest, Dead but Dreaming of Electric Sheep, explores a very different kind of horror. This isn't the supernatural, keep-the-lights-on kind of terror readers have come to expect from Tremblay. Instead, he sets his sights on artificial intelligence and the unsettling ways our growing reliance on it could reshape what it means to be human. It leans more toward science fiction than horror, but it still packs quite the punch.

Julia is a down-on-her-luck twenty-something and former semi-professional gamer who's struggling to figure out what comes next. She lives with her uncle while juggling two jobs, neither of which she particularly enjoys. Then, out of the blue, her estranged mother calls with an unexpected opportunity. The tech company where she serves as CFO is looking for temporary help, and the paycheck is too good to ignore.

She's hesitant. Her relationship with her mother has never been easy.

But money talks.

After flying to the company's West Coast headquarters and breezing through an interview that feels more like a formality than an actual hiring process, Julia lands the job. It's just not the job she was expecting.

Her assignment is to chaperone a man in a vegetative state on a cross-country trip. Only he isn't lying in a hospital bed.

The company has implanted an experimental AI-powered chip into his brain, allowing employees to control his movements with what's essentially a video game controller. Perfect for Julia, right? Her task is simple. She just has to escort him safely from the West Coast to the East.

What could possibly go wrong?

While the title Dead but Dreaming of Electric Sheep is clearly inspired by Philip K. Dick, the novel imagines a future that feels much closer to the present day than we'd probably like to admit. Artificial intelligence has already worked its way into many aspects of our everyday lives, and it's impossible to know what its long-term impact will be. As the novel progresses, Tremblay alternates between Julia's perspective and that of the man she's controlling. The effect is fascinating, forcing readers to wrestle with questions of consent, morality, and whether we've really stopped to consider the consequences of handing so much of ourselves over to emerging technology.

Spoiler: we haven't.

Tremblay also includes brief interludes written in his own voice, stepping outside the narrative to reflect on artificial intelligence and the act of writing itself. AI may be able to generate words, he argues, but writing is about far more than stringing sentences together. It takes iteration. It takes wrestling with ideas, throwing them away, and reshaping them until they become something meaningful. As if determined to prove that point, Tremblay fills this novel with moments that feel unmistakably human. They're strange, inventive, and unlike anything I've encountered before. You'll know them when you get there.

The result is a novel that's fun, chilling, occasionally absurd, and ultimately a thoughtful cautionary tale about our race toward an increasingly automated future. It's another original, thought-provoking work from an author who continues to surprise me with every new release.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2026, 57)