Finally, September is here. It's the beginning of the 'bers, my favorite time of year. This is when tea, a cozy reading chair, and a stack of books all feel the most right.

This month's books run the gamut from modern fantasy to hard sci-fi, from the atrocities of the past to the dangers of the present and the possibilities of the future. Thanks as always to every author and publisher who sends me ARCs. And be sure to support these writers (and anyone whose work you read) by sharing your own reviews on Amazon and GoodReads—it really helps!

Sage is barely a teenager, and her life has taken a terrible downward turn. Her mother, an accomplished violinist, recently passed away. Her father, angry and unable to provide for his children, abandons them. Now Sage has been separated from her siblings Wren and Violet by the foster system. But in her darkest hour, she receives a key that could answer all her questions: one that unlocks the door in the wall separating the world from Nytari, the dragon who rules over fate.

Now in a world of ghosts and talking animals, Sage finds herself in the company of Igor. But this musician-turned-priest doesn't know how to help the dead move on, or how to wake Nytari. In her time at Nytari's mansion, she struggles with what she wants. More than anything, she wants to find her mother and heal her family. But she also feels the pull of music: learning to play the violin in her mother's absence. Overshadowing both, though, is a fear of taking up space: a belief that she is unlovable and selfish. As she navigates riddles and paranormal dangers, she discovers new truths about fate, suffering, and herself.

Over the Dragon's Wall is a weighty, but beautiful, book for young readers. It's a pitch-perfect examination of grief amidst emotional abuse: the desire to ask for what you need, dampened by the belief that having needs makes one unlovable. This is one of those rare books that will find the people it's meant for; some may not fully comprehend Sage's struggle, but those who have struggled similarly will feel seen and benefit from its gentle message. The fact that this appears to be the first in a series is exciting; I can't wait to see what other experiences will be dissected in this close-to-home fantasy world.

It's the late 21st century, and the former United States of America has rebuilt after the Great Civil War. Under the thumb of a dictator named Martin who believes that ethnic groups simply cannot mix, the nation's remaining major cities are each walled off into four segments: Ivory, Obsidian, Havana, and Little Asia. Everything from greetings to holidays to food is segregated, and different groups may not mix even in academic or professional situations. At least, that's how things are aboveground.

In the decades since the Great Civil War, a resistance has been pushing forward. And now four young people in one segregated city find themselves in the midst of it. Marcos dreams of leaving Havana to be a truck driver, but finds himself moved to a prison camp. Harriet has been an Obsidian code-runner for much of her life, but her participation is about to ramp up. Rose, a Little Asian, pursues academic success while contending with the new knowledge that her mother has been resistance for a long time. And Jason, the son of a powerful Ivory man, finds himself tasked with overseeing these secret prison camps. As Rose and Harriet train, Jason attempts to use his clout to bring the camps down while Marcos works to strengthen their forces from the inside.

Divided is the first in a planned four-part series, with second book Caged coming next year. While the book is technically well written and the characters are believable and unique, this is a very by-the-numbers YA dystopian fiction. There's nothing especially bad or wrong with being a by-the-numbers example of a genre, but we've come to a point where I read a very similar book practically once a month. It's true that fiction, especially YA fiction, follows trends. Just because it's understandable that we got a bumper crop of zombie and plague fiction in the wake of the pandemic doesn't mean we can't wish for more variation amongst it. The same is true of dystopian near-future American fiction under a divisive dictator: I understand that everyone wants to tell this story, but this is an opportunity for multiple insights rather than the same one on repeat.

There's also a concern that, in many cases, I don't know what's an in-universe issue versus an author oversight. For example, while it's demonstrated in the text that the four racial subdivisions are messy (with some people being "misclassified" and disparate cultures being Occam's Razored), there's no mention of Indigenous people at all. If that's a plot point, it's tense and menacing; if the author simply forgot about Indigenous people, it's concerning. Similarly, are the on-the-nose names of the subdivisions uncomfortably bad because we're meant to cringe away from them as readers? There are so many things in this book that could go either way like this; and while I want to give the benefit of the doubt, I can't know in one book if I should.

On the day of her high school graduation, after years being bounced around in the foster system, Lauren finds herself homeless. At first, she's convinced it's just a temporary inconvenience. But soon she finds herself folded into a street family of people in her same position. Each has found themselves unhoused for reasons beyond their control—including Jimmy, who has fled an abusive home. Veteran Harris, recovering addict Violet, and former movie star Dora work together to make their situation as livable as possible.

But Robert, a high-earning gambling addict, has other plans. It's his job to ensure that this street family's encampment is cleared away to make room for a new development. But he, too, will soon find himself in unexpected circumstances. As Jimmy struggles to find work, Violet seeks healthcare, and Harris does what he can to keep his found family together, a local charity makes plans to renovate a motel into a haven for the unhoused. And Lauren, who once rejected the kindness of Harris and company, finds herself falling for Jimmy.

No Address is a novelization of the upcoming film of the same name, coming to theaters this fall. As a narrative, it's a strong one, and makes me look forward to what the attached film has to say. The novelization itself isn't bad, although your mileage may vary in terms of the backloaded spiritual message. Even speaking as someone "with religion," I found the talk of God to run hot and cold for a community in dire straits. The story itself is a keen reminder that every person has their own story and circumstances, and we can never truly know why someone has ended up where they are. While five characters could never encompass every circumstance, these five provide an insightful cross-section.

With all that being said, the No Address Movement is a multifaceted organization with many aspects to it: the film, the documentary, an album, a study guide, and this book. 50% of proceeds from these many projects will go to nonprofit organizations addressing homelessness. To me, these actions speak far louder than any slightly imperfect messaging.

Jim Garrett's career is not off to an auspicious start. After firing the deciding shot to stop a space mutiny, he is simultaneously commended and punished: lauded for his loyalty, but unlikely to ever lead a ship of his own as he dreamed. Years later, he prides himself on his technical work. But his luck may be about to change.

Once every 50 years, an alien threat known as the Push launches an attack. But this time, they're early. And the only defense is an experimental ship, the Surprise. With lives on the line and time no longer on their side, Garrett and his peers must combat enemies both within and without to save lives. But what they discover as they fight could change the course of this battle forever.

Off Midway Station is an intriguing story hobbled by messy pacing. The first chapter, and many chapters in between, are compelling. The late-stage discovery about the Push is a game-changer. However, the majority of the book is taken up with very long play-by-plays of launching procedures, characterization that is told directly after being shown, and long-form worldbuilding. (Note that I am a huge proponent of worldbuilding; however, much of this book read less like a book and more like the Edelheit's worldbuilding notes.) The moments of intrigue and action were there, and were good, but were hidden amongst long chapters in which the entire action consisted of Garrett buying a drink and getting on a train. I respect the author's dedication to realistic worldbuilding; however, I hope that later entries in the Guardians of the Dark series allow the world and character to speak for themselves and flow from scene to scene more naturally.

12-year-old Rolf lives with his older brother Romer and their widower Toymaker father in Germany circa 1929. He doesn't know a lot about politics, but he knows that the two new boys in town, Hans and Nils, have some strange ideas. They've joined the youth branch of the growing National Socialist party, which claims it will fix all of Germany's ills by instating strong leadership. And before long, Romer himself has been lured into the Hitler Youth, putting an even larger wedge between the elder brother and the rest of their small family.

Soon, Rolf suspects that Romer may have a hand in the attacks on Jewish shopkeepers in town. But playing sleuth like his favorite storybook hero won't be enough to stop the violence. Before long, he must tell his father. And together, Rolf and his dad witness up close the beginnings of the Nazi Party and its stranglehold on Germany.

Rise of the Spider is the first book in The Web of the Spider, a middle-grade series offering a child's view of the rise of Hitler between the wars. It's a chilling and poignant story: starting with the all-too-common disagreements over the dinner table and "my dad says" commentary and spinning out into violent attacks. Spradlin's prose is perfect for young readers: relatable without being stilted, both insightful and believable for its preteen narrator. This series would make an excellent accompaniment for young students who might find history lessons of a century ago otherwise distant.