One of kids' favorite characters in Francesca Lia Block's Weetzie Bat series is Witch Baby: a tangly haired, purple-eyed girl who can curl her toes into cashew shapes. She's a bit of an outsider, more in touch with feelings and portents than the rest of the gang from Shangri-L.A. In Witch Baby and Missing Angel Juan, we're able to watch Witch Baby work through some of her feelings of alienation. Her willingness to explore darker emotional realms is a real inspiration, and, in fact, she seems more evolved and "whole" than the others. In Missing Angel Juan, Witch Baby finally finds a way to create her own sense of belonging. She finds out more about her history and her unique needs to push through some of the shyness and moodiness that has always kept her separate from others.

Once there was a slink-chunk,
slam-dunk band called The Goat Guys

Cherokee Bat danced and sang. Witch Baby, Cherokee's almost-sister, pounded the beat on her drums. Raphael played the guitar, and Angel Juan kept the rhythm on his bass. They made music that sparkled like fireworks, and audiences loved them.

But with success came power, and power was a dangerous thing. Cherokee and The Goat Guys were swept up in it-and soon it was threatening to destroy them.

Until Cherokee realized that it was up to her to save them all . . .

One of kids' favorite characters in Francesca Lia Block's Weetzie Bat series is Witch Baby: a tangly haired, purple-eyed girl who can curl her toes into cashew shapes. She's a bit of an outsider, more in touch with feelings and portents than the rest of the gang from Shangri-L.A. In Witch Baby and Missing Angel Juan, we're able to watch Witch Baby work through some of her feelings of alienation. Her willingness to explore darker emotional realms is a real inspiration, and, in fact, she seems more evolved and "whole" than the others. In Missing Angel Juan, Witch Baby finally finds a way to create her own sense of belonging. She finds out more about her history and her unique needs to push through some of the shyness and moodiness that has always kept her separate from others.

Everyone has a story to tell ...

Dirk McDonald's life was almost perfect. He lived with this grandmother, Fifi, in a beautiful gingerbread cottage in Hollywood. He had the beach, and his surfboard, and Fifi's red-and-white 1955 Pontiac convertible.

But Dirk wasn't happy. Inside, he was harboring a deep, dark secret. And he was afraid that if he admitted it to anyone - even Fifi - he would never be accepted again.

Then one night, Dirk's magic lamp came to life. Suddenly, all the stories from Dirk's past came flowing out of it. On that night, his life changed forever. At last, Dirk learned who he really was, and that any love that is love is right.

One of kids' favorite characters in Francesca Lia Block's Weetzie Bat series is Witch Baby: a tangly haired, purple-eyed girl who can curl her toes into cashew shapes. She's a bit of an outsider, more in touch with feelings and portents than the rest of the gang from Shangri-L.A. In Witch Baby and Missing Angel Juan, we're able to watch Witch Baby work through some of her feelings of alienation. Her willingness to explore darker emotional realms is a real inspiration, and, in fact, she seems more evolved and "whole" than the others. In Missing Angel Juan, Witch Baby finally finds a way to create her own sense of belonging. She finds out more about her history and her unique needs to push through some of the shyness and moodiness that has always kept her separate from others.

Are you hip to the zine scene? Whether your answer is "absolutely!" "sort of," or "what's a zine?" everyone can learn from and be inspired by the funky, funny, fertile ideas set forth in Zine Scene. Written by Francesca Lia Block, author of the Weetzie Bat books (collected in Dangerous Angels), and Hillary Carlip, author of Girl Power: Young Women Speak Out, Zine Scene is both a tribute and a how-to guide to zines. Zines (as in magazines), are a righteous, radical form of creative self-expression. There are no hard-and-fast standards for zines, but they may contain one or more of the following: newsletters, journals, comic strips, artwork, photography, collage, poetry, and/or scrapbooks. The sky's the limit when it comes to production and length—from three pages of glossy paper to 30 pages of grainy photocopies. Block and Carlip teach by example, providing a plethora of reprints and excerpts from the tremendously diverse sea of zines. The range of zine creators, or "zinesters," is evident in the strong personalities that leap off the pages: the 21-year-old author of "Velvet Grass," who teaches her readers how to make arts and crafts (like duct tape shoes); "Flaming Jewboy," a 26-year-old drag queen whose manifesto includes "Thou Shalt Wear Heels"; the 17-year-old creator of "Private Catholic," who vents her feelings about private school; and 16-year-old Seth, master of several zines in which he discusses whatever he feels like—including his obsession with chicken fingers.

In addition to cheering on writing and art as a means of speaking out, Zine Scene also offers nitty-gritty details about copyrights, design, and distribution. But the emphatic, lasting message of this punky paean to self-publishing—and indeed the battle cry of zinesters themselves—is to be yourself, whatever that may be, with self-confidence, sass, and style. —Brangien Davis

When Justine and Barry meet during a plane crash just before the Christmas holidays, the relationship that follows is wild, turbulent, and maybe, just maybe, a keeper.

Justine is a pretty, smart, ambitious lawyer who's tired of being set up on lousy dates. Her eighteen-hour work days get in the way of finding Mr. Right, but she'd rather be home with her dog, drinking salad dressing for dinner and watching The Sound of Music on the VCR anyway. Barry is a good-looking food product manager living on the Upper West side with a rich roommate who is juggling three girlfriends at once but never has the rent. Barry seeks his soulmate, but the fact that he hasn't had a date in a year makes things a little tougher.

A comic urban romance about the possibilities and impossibilities of love. Was it Something I Said? is a classic "will they or won't they?" for the nineties that will keep readers guessing until the very end.

Judy Blume is the phenomenal author who has more than 35 million copies of her paperbacks in print. She has achieved multimillion-copy sales with her adult novels—Smart Women and Wifey—as well as her young adult novel Forever and fourteen children's titles. In Letters to Judy, she answers the questions and worries that concern parents and kids most. HC: Putnam. (Nonfiction)

Leaping Poetry is Robert Bly's testament to the importance of the artistic leap that bridges the gap between conscious and unconscious thought in any great work of art. Part anthology and part commentary, Bly seeks to rejuvenate modern Western poetry through his revelations of “leaping” as found in the works of poets from around the world, while also outlining the basic principles that shape his own poetry.

"Potter–style magic meets Snicket–y irreverence." – People Magazine

Fern discovers that she was swapped at birth and leaves her tragically dull parents for an unforgettable adventure with her true father, the Bone. Just who are the Anybodies? You'll have to read to find out! Narrated by the hilariously intrusive N. E. Bode, The Anybodies is a magical adventure for readers of all ages.

There is a city beneath New York City, one made by and for Anybodies. There you can find Bing Chubb's Ballpark, Willy Fattler's ever–changing Underground Hotel, and a castle whose spire sticks up into the dirt–filled sky...dangerously close to the rear ends of unsuspecting picnic–goers in Central Park. It's an extraordinary place, but it is in danger of becoming ordinary because of the nefarious Blue Queen. Somebody has to stop her, and if anybody is going to, nobody is better than everybody's favorite Anybody. In her third quirky adventure, Fern takes on the biggest, baddest, bluest opponent ever. Yikes!

Ages: 10 – 13

Oprah Book Club® Selection, October 1998: On a violent, stormy winter night, a home birth goes disastrously wrong. The phone lines are down, the roads slick with ice. The midwife, unable to get her patient to a hospital, works frantically to save both mother and child while her inexperienced assistant and the woman's terrified husband look on. The mother dies but the baby is saved thanks to an emergency C-section. And then the nightmare begins: the assistant suggests that maybe the woman wasn't really dead when the midwife operated:Did she perform at least eight or nine cycles as my mother said, or four or five as Asa recalled? That is the sort of detail that was disputable. But at some point within minutes of what my mother believed had been a stroke, after my mother concluded the cardiopulmonary resuscitation had failed to generate a pulse or a breath, she screamed for Asa and Anne to find her the sharpest knife in the house. In Midwives, Chris Bohjalian chronicles the events leading up to the trial of Sibyl Danforth, a respected midwife in the small Vermont town of Reddington, on charges of manslaughter. It quickly becomes evident, however, that Sibyl is not the only one on trial—the prosecuting attorney and the state's medical community are all anxious to use this tragedy as ammunition against midwifery in general; this particular midwife, after all, an ex-hippie who still evokes the best of the flower-power generation, is something of an anachronism in 1981. Through it all, Sibyl, her husband, Rand, and their teenage daughter, Connie, attempt to keep their family intact, but the stress of the trial—and Sibyl's growing closeness to her lawyer—puts pressure on both marriage and family. Bohjalian takes readers through the intricacies of childbirth and the law, and by the end of Sibyl Danforth's trial, it's difficult to decide which was more harrowing—the tragic delivery or its legal aftermath.

Narrated by a now adult Connie, Midwives moves back and forth in time, fitting vital pieces of information about what happened that night like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle into its complicated plot. As Connie looks back on her mother's trial, she is still trying to understand what happened—not on the night of the disaster—but in the months and years that followed. —Margaret Prior

This sympathetic novel about the effect of a sex change on a romantic relationship, a family, and a community could almost be sold as a textbook—a kind of transgender Guide to the Perplexed. With its calming tone and scrupulous sensitivity to the feelings of all involved, it sometimes reads like a textbook, too. But while nobody is likely to launch a protest campaign over the cautious revelations of Trans-sister Radio, that's precisely the subject of Chris Bohjalian's seventh novel, in which a male college professor in a small Vermont town transforms himself into a woman. Even Dana Stevens's initial step in this direction—donning women's clothing—elicits a powerful reaction from the community.

And what about Dana's new girlfriend Allie Banks, a beloved local schoolteacher who fell in love with him before learning of his plan? Her initial instinct is to end the relationship. Then she decides to stand by Dana, inspired rather than daunted by her stuffy ex-husband Will's opposition to the "effeminate" guy she's dating, and by the horrified reactions of the parents at her school. She does, it's true, continue to love Dana after the sex reassignment surgery. And she stoically endures the threatening notes in her school mailbox and the crude graffiti on her front door, as well as the minor vindication of a local public radio story on their battle. Yet Allie never makes the emotional shift from heterosexual woman to lesbian. Breaking off the affair, she spends months mourning the man she had fallen in love with.

Assuming, as we are meant to, that Dana is outwardly becoming the person she always was inside—that biology is anything but destiny—there—there's only one character who undergoes a profound change over the course of the novel. That would be Will, Allie's ex-husband, who recoils from Dana's initial sexual ambiguity. After her surgery, however, he finds himself increasingly aware of her as a woman. And so when I'd hug Dana or touch the inside of her palm with the inside of mine (a handshake, yet so suggestive) or my fingers would find their way to one of her arms, I would experience a sexual ripple and wonder why I had felt such a thing—why I had courted such a thing. And the answer would be because she was pretty and she was smart and she was feminine.

Structuring his story around the transcript of a fictional National Public Radio feature on transgender, Bohjalian shifts the point of view with every chapter: the characters often seem to be enlarging on comments they had made for broadcast. We hear from Dana, Allie, and Will in turn, as well as Carly, the daughter of the divorced couple. In this sense, Trans-sister Radio gives everyone equal time. And for good or ill, it has none of the bluster or transgressive charge of Gore Vidal's late-1960s bombshell, Myra Breckinridge. Instead it brings transgender home, rendering it (to quote Dana herself) "domestic as a balloon shade or a perennial garden. And just as harmless." —Regina Marler