When you're looking to get lost in a book, sometimes you need your reading material to match your mood. With Marie Claire's series "Buy the Book," we do the heavy lifting for you. We're offering curated, highly specific recommendations for whatever you're looking for—whether you're in your feels or hooked on a subgenre trending on #BookTok.

In this author-curated rendition, R.F. Kuang—the scholar and best-selling author behind Babel, Katabasis, and Yellowface—shares which novels about language-learning inspired her seventh novel, Taipei Story.

R.F. Kuang’s fascination with language has made her a literary superstar. Her bestselling works—from historical epics with complex magic systems to a biting contemporary satire of the publishing industry—explore the ways words can be warped and co-opted in search of power, fame, and influence. For her latest release, Kuang turned to a place that can strike fear in the heart of any linguaphile: the immersion classroom.

Taipei Story, Kuang’s first contemporary coming-of-age novel, follows Yale student Lily through her summer attending an intensive Chinese-language program in Taiwan. The first half of the book is a travelogue of fumbling miscommunications inside and outside of the classroom, as Lily navigates inscrutable teachers, roommate woes, and that diasporic dissonance of feeling like an outsider in her ancestral homeland. In a way, the fictional Lily is walking in her creator’s footsteps; to write the novel, Kuang pulled from her own study-abroad era in the summer of 2023.

“While I went to many of the same places and did many of the same activities as Lily did, her reactions and interpretations are wholly invented,” Kuang tells Marie Claire. “I wanted to explore loss and alienation from the perspective of someone much younger and worse equipped to deal with it all.”

Though Kuang is best known for revitalizing the “dark academia” novel, with its innately gifted protagonists, the Cambridge, Oxford, and soon-to-be Yale graduate embraced the natural conflict that misapprehension brings for her latest novel. “You don’t speak the language. You keep blundering and violating cultural norms,” she describes. “You don’t know the right way to interpret anything you’re witnessing. All of that friction is hilarious.”

Kuang counts these types of novels, ones that explore the gap between intention and comprehension that foreign-language speakers face, among her biggest literary influences. The big question of Taipei Story is whether Lily will ever cross that chasm. When her grandfather passes away in the middle of her program—as Kuang’s did in real life—she has to parse through her family’s unspoken history without the complete fluency she’d been chasing. The lesson that comes from this struggle is one that Kuang would give to her young self today.

“Miscommunication is inevitable, and so is falling flat on your face,” she says. “The only way to get better at a language is to make mistakes over and over again, so just put yourself out on a limb and learn to laugh at yourself.”

To coincide with the release of her highly anticipated new book on September 8, we asked the author to share the books about miscommunication among language-learners that inspired Taipei Story, from globetrotting fiction to campus novels.

Readers often look to Tessa Bailey's romance novels because of their heart and relatability. Her books bring on the charm (plus ample spice!), but her love stories always feel grounded and resonant with working-class protagonists undergoing periods of transition.

Since 2013, Bailey has published 65 books—ranging from hit sports-romance titles like the Big Shots franchise to rom-coms like the Hot and Hammered series—and sold over 4 million copies. But this fall, the best-selling author will release a novel that's unlike anything else she's written thus far.

Cue Broken Rival, a high-concept time-travel romance. The sci-fi melodrama centers on 18-year-old Magnolia, who just so happens to be the daughter of the inventors of time travel. When her parents leave her in the past after the technology becomes corrupted and leads to their persecution, she finds herself trying to adjust and searching for answers in her new reality. That's all but complicated when she's caught in a love triangle between two brothers—including one who works for a militia group that hunts time travelers.

Before Broken Rival releases on October 6, Bailey has shared an exclusive excerpt with Marie Claire. Read on for the advanced chapter, which features a sweet moment between Magnolia and her boyfriend Fallon just before danger begins to loom in the distance.

Drumbeats pepper the crisp fall air.

The scent of hot chocolate and corn dogs drift through the gaps in the metal bleachers. Sparkles painted onto the cheeks of students catch the spotlights, never staying still. Shimmering, moving, going silver to pink. A horn signals the start of the second half and I smile, watching Fallon and his teammates take the field, the white knees of his football pants soiled with grass stains, his helmet dangling from his fingertips. He always leaves it off until the exact second official play resumes. One of his numerous good luck rituals.

Like kissing me in the parking lot before a game.

Taping his pinkie and ring finger together with white strips of athletic tape.

Parting his golden coif of hair to the left for away games.

Feeling eyes on my back, I turn and seek out Fallon’s mother, Camille, in the top row of the bleachers, her honey-colored hair pulled into a high ponytail, his jersey number—9—painted on her cheek in red, outlined in black. Looking nervous, she tilts her head toward the scoreboard, which shows a tied score. I hold up my crossed fingers and she does the same.

See you at home later, she mouths. Whatever happens.

Comfort steals through me and I smile, nodding. Home.

Home is a big house in the southeast corner of Aubrey with an entryway full of crosses. The opposite wall is painted pitch-black, but if you look at it from an angle, you can see where someone used a finger to draw the outline of a six-foot-two human figure in the wet paint. A nod to the boy who used to live there.

Home is dirty cereal bowls stacked in the sink, the smell of acrylic paint and daisies gathered from the fields surrounding the house. It’s the sound of the pastor muttering his sermons to himself in the study, his feet creaking the floorboards while he paces. It’s crop dusters flying over the Overmeyers’ farm to the north.

Home is Fallon.

I sigh gustily enough to emit a white cloud in front of my face, my gloved hands wedging between my thighs in my lap. When I came home with the Willoughbys two years ago, I slept in the guest room for three months until the pastor caught Fallon kissing me in the downstairs bathroom. He bought a small trailer after that and parked it in the backyard. Since then, the trailer has been my home. “I’m not harboring any notions this is going to keep you two away from each other,” he’d said wryly, opening the door to the trailer and gesturing us inside. Fallon laughed at my furious blush and tickled me up the stairs. “But if y’all are going to insist on holding hands in church, I think we’ll need to consider appearances.” The pastor dragged a long-suffering hand down his face.

“You two couldn’t keep this platonic, could you? Had to make it hard on me, huh?” Fallon laughs. “Sorry, Dad. She’s way too cute.”

Two years. Gone by in a blur. I’m eighteen now, but at sixteen, I still wasn’t used to being told I was pretty. My parents never once told me so, nor did I have access to a lot of kids my own age. As a child, I’d been close friends with another scientist’s son, but they left our station when I was six, leaving me isolated at our perfunctory employee housing near the lab. My thick brown hair always seemed kind of ordinary. Brown eyes, unremarkable.

Fallon called them bronze, though. He declared that, somehow by looking at me, a person could tell by these bronze eyes that I’m smart. He told me I smelled like fresh, wild raspberries. That my lips were soft, my voice was like music. He’d lean over and hug me out of the blue.

Still does.

Eager to set my sights on my boyfriend, I return my attention to the football field and frown. Where are the players? I swear I saw them return from the locker room just a minute ago.

I stand up and lean over, trying to determine if the team are out of sight or if maybe there is a problem and—

“Magnolia Brown.”

Hearing my name over the announcer’s speaker, my skin immediately shrinks around my bones. The fear of being trapped and removed, like a spider on someone’s bedroom ceiling, has never quite gone away. But it’s Fallon’s voice, which doesn’t make me nervous—God, no, just the opposite—it’s just that everyone seated in the bleachers has turned to stare at me now.

And they knew right where I was sitting, because they always do.

I’m a moving landmark, no matter where I go.

Sounds grow tinny and distant in my ears, but I smile through the temporary discomfort and find my boyfriend where he stands in the announcer’s booth, the ends of his hair brushing his filthy shoulder pads. Those familiar white teeth are stretched in a smile, hovering just above the silver microphone. His teammates flank him on all sides, giving him good-natured slaps and shoves of encouragement.

“Magnolia Brown, I love you. Will you go to prom with me?”

Briefly, I catch Camille’s eye, and she gives me a beaming eye roll that says exactly what I’m thinking: There he goes again. Fallon being Fallon. There are no small gestures with my boyfriend. No minor commitments. He only leaves behind big, boisterous, memorable marks. Everyone loves him for it, too.

That fondness for Fallon is why the people of Aubrey have slowly accepted me as one of their own over the last two years. There might be an asterisk beside my name in the town records forever, but to Fallon, I’m just Magnolia. I’m not simply the girl whose parents negatively impacted the course of history.

You’re just Magnolia. Good through and through. Nothing like her parents.

Not a threat.

Sweet and helpful and most importantly, grateful to still have her head.

I push an effusive smile onto my face, pressure leaking out from behind my eyes. “Yes,” I whisper. Then louder, “Yeah, I will.”

The game buzzer gives several noisy toots, the audience erupting into cheers. Many of those clapping are the same people who called for my death when I was sixteen. I shake their hands now and accept their kisses on the cheek, agreeing when they tell me how incredible Fallon is. How lucky I am. Don’t I know it?

I blow a kiss to Fallon as he takes the field a second time, waving to me while he runs backward. I want to watch the second half from the bleachers, but it’s my turn to volunteer at the Helping Hands booth, drumming up support for the canned food drive I’m organizing with my cochair, Vetta.

I’m scooting past a row of underclassmen when gunfire rat-a-tats in the distance.

All the motion in the stadium fades to stillness.

Every head in the audience turns in the same direction. Three miles north. Toward the Burn Line.

The black ring of burned earth that separates Aubrey from the Breach.

Residents of Aubrey were ordered long ago by Cyrus to stay inside the Burn Line, for their own protection. We do not venture to the other side. No one, not even the wiliest troublemakers in our school, is self-destructive enough to attempt it. This close to the Breach, they could be mistaken for a Taker and executed by the Deterrence on sight.

As the Breaches have been declared disaster sites by the federal government, populations who live the closest to those holes in the atmosphere have shifted away, migrating to towns and cities they deem safer, leaving many southeast Kansas towns deserted. Not Aubrey, though. Everyone is either too stubborn to leave or their faith in Cyrus Royse is so great, they seem to believe we’re surrounded by an iron dome, rather than a man-made Burn Line that circles the town.

No one comes in. No one goes out. But we all proceed as normal.

The crowd is silent as a prolonged firefight ensues, parents folding children into their sides in the glow of the Friday night football game. Meanwhile, a sickly yellow hue reaches its fingers into the air above the Burn Line. A fire, perhaps. Bodies burning.

Not everyone is staring into the distance anymore.

Prickles on my skin tell me I’m being observed. Covertly, sure, but the silent judgment is not subtle. It’s always there. They think I can’t feel it.

A very intense part of me doesn’t want to seek Fallon’s comfort. He’ll mope if I don’t let him give it to me, though, so I look over and meet blue eyes that are hunting for mine from the football field, nodding back at him when he mouths, Are you okay?

Yes.

As soon as a full minute has passed without gunfire, the buzzer sounds, a blast of cheers go up and the game resumes, as if nothing happened. Pom-poms wave in the stands, cheerleaders call to the audience through a bullhorn, the Tiger mascot dancing out of rhythm to the delight of the children in the front row.

I duck my head and move through the tunnel leading to the concessions area, waving at Vetta, hustling forward with an apology on my lips. “Sorry I’m late to relieve you. How’d we do on pledges?”

“Good. Really good. People love to get rid of their verging on moldy green beans.”

“Don’t they, though?” I scoot behind the waist-high table and hip bump her out from behind it. “Go watch the rest of the game. I’ve got this.”

She tilts her head at me. “So you’re just going to pretend like your live-in boyfriend didn’t ask you to prom in front of the whole town?”

“Like I always say, Fallon is going to Fallon. And he’s not . . .” I sigh. “Okay, fine. I guess he’s technically my live-in boyfriend. Weird circ—”

“Weird circumstances. I know. We all know. And we hate you for it.” She smiles to let me know she’s at least partially joking. “You’re already shacked up with your man, and mine will only take me on a date if his boys are there, too.”

“Maybe he wants to show you off.” I waggle my eyebrows at her. “Hell, I would. A kickboxer and an uncompensated volunteer? You’re a catch.”

“Bah. Enough of that.” She laughs, her smile slowly ebbing from her face. “Did you hear those gunshots? They sounded . . . close.”

“Yeah, I did,” I reply, averting my eyes by scanning the pledge sheet, turning to a fresh page and uncapping the pen. “Sounded like it was near the Burn Line, as usual.”

“Yeah, but it’s been a while since the Deterrence had to intercept anyone trying to cross from the Breach into Aubrey, right? Like . . . at least three, four months?”

“That’s a good thing,” I point out, making it clear where I stand on the issue of Takers. Forever making it clear. “I’m sure the gunfire is nothing to worry about or they’d be issuing a curfew for tonight.”

“On a game night? The horror!”

I raise an eyebrow. “A game night you’re missing, standing here talking to me.”

A collective “ohhh” emanates from the stands. “Fine, twist my arm. I’ll go watch.” She skips backward toward the packed bleachers, nearly running into a couple returning to their seat with two loaded chili dogs. “As if Fallon Willoughby ever loses.”

That statement lingers in the air long after Vetta is absorbed by the stands.

Everyone has gotten their mid-game snack now and used the bathroom. It’s just me, waiting in case the odd spectator happens by but mainly to field the postgame rush. For now, though, I’m alone in the muffled roar behind the stands. In the filtered spotlight.

That’s when I let myself acknowledge the Presence. At least to myself.

The ringing in my ears grows more tense, more suspenseful, my mouth turning dry as a bone. Electricity dances slowly up the length of my arms and wraps around my throat, forcing me to cough to release the pressure. There’s no name for what watches me from the darkness. Or I won’t name it.

I’m not willing to admit which.

But it’s always there in moments like this. In the silent, finally alone moments, it reminds me that I’m never actually alone. It’s watching. Keeping tabs. Entertained by my actions. My very normal actions designed to help me blend in.

The Presence is not buying my serene act for a second. There’s something different about it tonight, though.

A sizzle of warning that drips down my spine and leaves a burn behind.

There’s change in the air.

From BROKEN RIVAL by Tessa Bailey. Copyright © 2026 by Tessa Bailey. Reprinted by permission of Avon Books, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

Content warning: the below contains references to and descriptions of postpartum psychosis and the death of children.

As bestselling author Jodi Picoult considered potential themes for her thirtieth novel, an email arrived. It praised Picoult's famously extensive research process and suggested a topic for her next novel. "You see, I also want to be a voice for those who suffer in silence, mainly those women battling the darker side of postpartum," the letter-writer wrote. "Unfortunately, my reach is limited, as I write to you from a jail cell."

The author of the letter was Solange White, who on August 18 pleaded guilty, but mentally ill, to the third-degree murder of her three-year-old daughter in 2022. White, who told Picoult in her letter that her life had been "hijacked by an evil mix of postpartum hormones, insomnia, and the wrong medical treatment," was sentenced to 16 to 40 years in prison. Weeks later, the highly publicized trial of Lindsay Clancy—who in 2023 fatally strangled her three young children—ended in a mistrial after jurors failed to reach a unanimous verdict.

As Picoult considered White's request for a novel that contained themes of postpartum psychosis, she began to research. Picoult learned that the condition affects one in five hundred women. "PPP can literally affect anyone, regardless of socioeconomic status, educational status, or race," she writes in the author's note for Hollow Bones, out September 15. "As difficult as it is to believe, the motive for a woman who commits altruistic homicide is not malicious. She truly thinks she is protecting her child from evil and that the only way to do this is to end their life. A woman with PPP is not a perpetrator but a victim of her own mind ... The most shocking thing I learned about PPP during my research is that since PPP often presents like anxiety and depression at first, doctors use SSRIs to treat it as they would postpartum depression—however, antidepressants exacerbate PPP, leaving the woman in an even more disturbed state."

In the following excerpt from Hollow Bones, a character named Eloise begins to suffer symptoms of postpartum psychosis following the birth of her daughter, Molly. Picoult notes: "Much of Eloise’s frame of mind as she suffered from PPP came from the hundred-plus pages of interviews I did with [White]."

I am inventing colors. These are hues that have never been recorded, ombrés that waver in front of my eyes and metallics so sharp I can taste them. I start writing down their names. The three-­dimensional ivory twined with white—­I call that “westminster.” The green slide to brown: “crepuscule.” The bubbling orange of the sun as it melts into night: “fervent.” One day, when Molly is older, I will mix these in paints, so that there can be a visual record of them.

Although I am still not sleeping, it is no longer an issue. It was almost as if I had to hit rock bottom before I could hit my stride. As it turns out, I don’t need sleep; my body only had to level up, unlocking new reserves. I now sense when Molly is going to wake to feed seconds before she cries.

I’m buzzing, all the time, my skin conducting electricity. I am suddenly so aware.

I do wonder if it’s just me, or if all women who have babies become so superhumanly attuned. But the one time I get up the nerve to ask someone—­a stranger at the pediatrician’s office with a baby roughly the same age as Molly—­a thought curls like smoke in my mind: We do not speak of this.

I remember once hearing that autism is the brain’s inability to filter out stimuli—­that people on the spectrum experience everything all at once, unable to tune out the extraneous bits. I, too, am being bombarded. Stimuli come at me in tidal waves; it’s all I can do to stay afloat. As a result, something has to give. So while my mind is spinning like a pinwheel, I sometimes forget which buttons to push on my washing machine to do laundry. I can’t remember how to roast a chicken, although I’ve done it a hundred times.

The flip side of this hyperfocus is that, now, I also am aware of everything that can go wrong. What if there is a fire and I can’t get Molly out of our building? I pull the couch away from the window because twice a year or so a bird smacks into the glass, and who knows if the next time it will smash through. I am so scared of tripping when I’m walking down the front steps of the apartment with Molly in my arms that yesterday, I sat on my butt and scooted down. I put away all the glass tesserae of the unfinished mosaic—­choking hazards. There are a million and one ways that I could inadvertently hurt my child. You could, says the smoke in my head. You might.

Five days after Molly is born, Evie asks to visit. Adam is still in California, and I haven’t seen anyone but the pediatrician. I am about to say no—I want to make sure Molly has a little more immunity from disease before I expose her to the world—­but I cannot force the word out. “Eloise?” Evie says, worried. “Don’t move. I’m coming.”

Don’t move. As if I could! Where would I go? I find myself laughing uncontrollably, while Molly’s tiny face peers up at me. And then, the laughter coagulates, and suddenly it’s dripping down my cheeks. Molly starts crying, too. I should walk with her—­motion soothes her—­but what if I drop her? So instead, I rock back and forth as her cries get louder, sharper, spiked.

Evie lets herself in with her key—­she takes care of our apartment when Adam and I go away—­and finds me sitting on the floor with Molly shrieking. She plucks the baby out of my arms. Molly immediately stops wailing.

You see? You are bad at this.

“Why are you sitting on the floor?” she asks, her eyes cutting to the couch, which is still pulled far away from its spot beneath the window.

I am about to say So I would not hurt her when I realize how that will sound. Evie may be my best friend, but she is practical, and if I tell her the truth—­that I’m being watched, that I have so much energy I can see it moving around me like an aura, that I’m afraid of injuring my child—­she will think I’m insane. She will tell Adam, and I’ll get taken away from Molly.

I don’t know how long I sit there in silence, but Evie touches my shoulder. The baby is not in her arms anymore, and I startle. “She’s just over there,” Evie says, and I see Molly on the couch.

(She could roll off.) She can’t roll yet. (It could still happen.)

Evie strokes my hair off my forehead, the way she did the first time I drank at RISD and spent the night projectile vomiting into the toilet. “When was the last time you ate?” she asks.

“She nursed twenty minutes ago . . .”

“I asked when you ate. Never mind. Molly and I are going to whip you up something while you take a nap.” She hugs me. “I’ve got you.”

I do not remember getting into the bedroom, but I lie down dutifully on the bed. I stare at the ceiling. I take deep breaths. But even though I’d trust Evie with my life, or my daughter’s, all I can think about is the distance between me and the baby. Fifteen feet, maybe, with a door between us.

I get up, wrench open the door. Evie is in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove. It smells cheesy and rich and my mouth waters. She holds Molly in her free arm, careful to keep her far from the flames.

(Which is more than I can say for you.)

Evie grins. “Look, angel. Your mama’s awake.” She turns to me. “How do you feel?”

“So much better,” I lie.

Evie looks at me gently. “Listen. This is hard.”

I nod. “I know.”

My neck prickles. I do not have to turn to realize that Evie has moved the couch to its original spot beneath the living room window. Dragging it back to the middle of the floor is the first thing I do when she leaves.

Sometimes I look at my baby and calculate the mathematics of her existence: the sweet parabola of her cheek, the constant of her heartbeat, the daily derivative—­her rate of change. The limit I can feel for her, which skates along the axis of infinity.

And sometimes I look at her and think she will be the death of me.

Excerpted from Hollow Bones by Jodi Picoult. Copyright © 2026 by Jodi Picoult. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Author Jeneva Rose has been dubbed the "Queen of Twists" by her mystery-thriller contemporary Colleen Hoover and readers alike. After building a devout following on #BookTok, her debut novel The Perfect Marriage propelled her to success, selling over 1 million copies in just three years after its 2020 publication. It's since sold 1 million more, and she's published a sequel, The Perfect Divorce, in addition to several other genre-defying page-turners.

While the most astute armchair detectives may not be able to predict where Rose's gripping plots go, her latest move certainly feels inevitable. On September 22, the No. 1 New York Times bestselling author will release her first proper horror collection—which all but makes sense after she's written about crime, survival, and zombie-like outbreaks.

The book, Sometimes I Scare Myself, features three short stories about how ordinary situations can lead to terrifying circumstances. Before the highly anticipated title hits shelves, Rose has shared an exclusive first look with Marie Claire. Below, read Rose's introduction and a preview of her story, "The Nightmare House," about a family moving to a desolate town.

Introduction

Sometimes I scare myself. It starts with a thought. The kind that makes me pause and wonder where it came from, or how it slipped past whatever part of my brain is supposed to keep things normal. It’s the kind of thought that, if someone knew what I was thinking, they’d lock me up and throw away the key. Not because I want to hurt anyone—let’s be clear—but because some ideas feel dangerous simply for existing.

They arrive as what-ifs.

What if you opened the door?

What if you answered the call?

What if you didn’t?

And once the question is there, it doesn’t leave. It makes itself comfortable.

The three horror stories in this collection were born from those thoughts—the ones that refuse to behave. The curiosities that turn corrosive. The split-second choices that rot everything from the inside out. These stories live in that narrow space between impulse and consequence, where something terrible happens simply because someone wondered if it could.

If you find yourself unsettled, good.

If you laugh nervously, even better.

And if, at any point, you think, I wish I hadn’t read that—

Welcome.

You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Sweet dreams,

Jeneva Rose

"The Nightmare House"

Kristin

I didn’t fully register the sign until it was already behind us—a split, weather-scarred plank nailed crookedly to a post that looked one strong wind gust away from surrendering.

Welcome to Tillington

Population: 256

The number two was so faded it was practically a ghost of itself.

“Make that two-sixty,” Patrick said, drumming the steering wheel, pleased with his joke.

I attempted a smile, but it didn’t quite reach my lips. It wasn’t him or anything he’d done. I just felt . . . fragile, like if I bent even a little too far or forced anything, I’d snap. I blamed exhaustion, hormones, the way my body still didn’t feel like it belonged to me.

Outside, frozen fields unspooled in every direction—rolling waves of dead corn and wheat, bowed and brittle under the January sky. Patches of thin forest punctured the land, skeletal branches clawing at the horizon. There was something exposed about it. Nowhere to disappear into or crowds to blur the edges.

Hailey sighed dramatically in the back seat. At fifteen she’d perfected teenage contempt, and her whole body radiated it. Her hood was up and pulled down past her eyes, and her earbuds were in but not actually playing anything since her phone lost service miles back. Every little thing she did now was a quiet punishment directed at her father and me.

“You don’t have to keep reminding me that we’re moving to the middle of nowhere,” she groaned.

I turned slightly in my seat. “We moved because we needed a change.”

It came out sharper than I intended. Everything did these days. I didn’t add the rest—that the city had started to feel too loud, too close, like there were always eyes on us. That every siren made my pulse spike. That even familiar streets had begun to feel unfamiliar to me. My emotions lived just under my skin, waiting for the smallest excuse to break through.

Patrick shot me a look—not reproachful, just tired. We were all tired.

“How ’bout you try and look on the bright side, Hails?” he said, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Think of just one thing that might be better here. One positive thought.”

She snorted. “Fine. I’m positive I’ll hate it here.”

Patrick’s hand found my knee and squeezed, our unspoken way of saying everything we didn’t have the energy to voice. We’re doing our best. We’re trying. This is supposed to help.

The road narrowed as we turned off the highway, the pavement rougher now, less maintained. It was the kind of road people only used if they had a reason to. Henry stirred in his car seat, a small whimper slipping out.

My chest tightened automatically, my body responding before my mind could catch up. Twelve weeks postpartum meant no boundaries or warnings. It was just instinct firing whether you wanted it to or not.

“It’s okay,” I murmured more to myself than to him. He quieted down and fell back into a slumber.

The road dipped and rose again, and that’s when I saw them.

Two people stood across from one another at their mailboxes. An older man and a woman, mid-conversation. They were laughing—real laughter, shoulders lifted, mouths wide—until our SUV crested the hill. Their mouths snapped closed, and they turned in unison.

The man was tall and narrow, his coat hanging off him as if it belonged to someone else. He held his mail loosely at his side, fingers slack, like he’d forgotten it was there. The woman stood unnervingly still, her hands folded in front of her, chin tipped down as she watched us approach. There was no curiosity, no smiles. Just . . . observation.

Patrick slowed without meaning to.

“Uh,” Hailey said, leaning forward. “Who are these fucking weirdos?”

“Language,” Patrick said. “They’re . . . the neighbors. Just wave.”

He lifted his hand first. I followed and so did Hailey, reluctantly. All three of us waving as we rolled past.

“They’re not waving back,” Hailey muttered.

“That’s fine,” Patrick said. “Just keep waving.”

I forced my smile to hold, even as something cold settled in my stomach. It was the same feeling I’d been living with for months now—the sense that safety was temporary, conditional. That doors didn’t always stay shut just because you remembered closing them.

That afternoon in the city flashed through my mind uninvited: coming home from a walk, Henry bundled against my chest, our front door standing open like an accusation. The certainty that followed had been immediate and unshakable. Someone had been in our home.

That was why we were here now. Why I’d needed somewhere quieter, somewhere with fewer people. Somewhere I could breathe without checking locks twice, without replaying every sound, every doubt. I’d wanted this. Or at least I thought I did.

The road curved again, the neighbors disappearing from view, and I let my hand fall back into my lap.

“They’re just curious,” Patrick said, glancing at Hailey in the rearview mirror and then at me. “New faces in a town this small. It’s normal. We’ll settle in, wave a few more times, and before you know it, we’ll be borrowing each other’s snowblowers.”

I forced a smile, and I told myself—for the hundredth time—that this was what safety looked like.

Excerpted from Sometimes I Scare Myself by Jeneva Rose. Copyright ©️ 2026. Reprinted with permission of Blackstone Publishing. All rights reserved.

After decades of cooking, developing recipes, and writing about food, chef Carla Lalli has learned her appetite is best met when she eats her feelings. That's exactly the crux of the former Bon Appétit Food Editor at Large's new book Food is a Feeling, a cookbook/memoir about her lifetime spent in kitchens, and particularly the role food played after her divorce.

But long before Lalli hosted hit YouTube cooking shows and published bestsellers like Where Cooking Begins and That Sounds So Good, she got her start studying at the French Culinary Institute and working as a line chef and kitchen manager in New York restaurants. There, she honed her craft and fell even more in love with it—but also learned how to hold her own in traditionally hyper-masculine environments.

As Food is a Feeling hits shelves on September 8, Lalli has shared an exclusive excerpt with Marie Claire about her days in the late '90s spent working in a Tribeca kitchen. You can read the chapter, titled "Restaurant Haze," below.

Restaurant work began for me in 1998, at Montrachet, a three-star restaurant in Tribeca run by a tall French chef who seemed proportionally oversized for the short and narrow kitchen. I arrived as a twenty-six-year-old culinary student, a baby whale, ready to inhale every scrap of instruction that came my way. I wasn’t passive: I wanted to contribute, earn approval, and, most of all, I wanted to fit in. I was there for about a year. When I left, it was with a fledgling cook’s swagger and skills that are foundational to the way I prepare food, almost thirty years later.

I was “hired” as an unpaid intern while still in culinary school and went to Montrachet straight from class. After I changed, I’d set up my workstation right on the other side of the swinging kitchen door, between a janky toaster oven and the stainless countertop where the salad cook whisked vinaigrettes in massive metal bowls. It was good that I was small. My body slid into a spot that was barely wide enough for a slim kitchen trashcan, and I could stand comfortably beneath an open shelving unit without having to crouch. I can remember feeling my hip bones press into the lip of the counter as I worked, but I can barely conjure the posh dining room. When I passed through it, I kept my eyes lowered on the red carpet and moved quickly. The kitchen staff were meant to be invisible to the guests.

In addition to helping the cooks with menial prep work—trimming vegetables, mostly—I was tasked with the amuse-bouche. This was a little bite from the chef that went out to each guest after they were seated, which meant I’d have to keep up with service, too. On my first day, Chef gave me a container of gently roasted mini sweet bell peppers and a large metal pan of cold braised rabbit. My job was to debone the rabbit and tear the meat into pieces that would fit into the cavity of each pepper.

The most efficient way to do this was by hand, digging the pieces of rabbit out of the gelatinized braising liquid, then sliding the meat off the tiny bunny bones. Once I had separated the usable bits from the discard, I would coax a pinch of shredded rabbit into the pepper, being careful not to tear the silky, floppy skin. I hadn’t been at it long when the chef swooped in behind me and said, in a searingly derisive tone: Do you know there are oils and bacteria on your hands that you are putting into that entire batch of rabbit, causing it to become contaminated and spoil, and we will have to throw it into the garbage? This was his way of telling me to wear gloves. Enveloped in shame and embarrassment, I knew enough to say, Yes, Chef. Heart pounding, I washed my hands, put on gloves, and continued with my task.

An hour later, dinner service began and orders rolled in. I stood silent and rapt, watching the cooks call back orders and fire their dishes. As though automated, they grabbed skillets and dropped them onto already-lit burners, spooned into their mise en place, squirted oil, lemon juice, and vinegar from squeeze bottles, slid aluminum trays in and out of the eye-level broiler, and monitored multiple types of proteins at once. Heeding internal timers, they bent to extract fish fillets and chicken legs from the blasting oven, then used their heels to swing the door closed behind them. My adrenaline soared.

The dance would slow when it was time to plate. From the opposite side of the counter, the chef would bend forward to scrutinize each dish being presented to him. If all went well, he’d dip a tightly rolled white napkin in a bowl of diluted white vinegar and use that to wipe the plate rim. The food runners lined up behind him, listening for him to call table numbers and positions before gliding out to the dining room with the hot plates.

The loop was closed when the runners returned with empty china, pausing in front of the chef so he could see how much (or how little) had been consumed. From there, dishes and silverware landed noisily at the dishwashing station. The porters transformed them into stacks of clean plates that made their way back to the cooks’ warming shelf. I was electrified. The dining room was pomp, performance, a show. The kitchen was unedited, raw sport, a coordinated mosh pit. It seemed like the most beautiful transaction imaginable. The diners order the food, we cook the food, they eat the food, we wash the dishes, they give us money, they leave, we leave.

I made sure to be on time, take up a minimum of space, heed the chef, help the cooks, and keep up with the amuse. Soon, I was offered an actual staff position: $350 for a six-day week; we worked a double on Fridays and the restaurant was closed on Sundays. No sick days, no vacation. It was a low wage for the overtime hours and the nonexistent benefits. But it was a line position. I’d be an entremetier, preparing the vegetables that went with the fish entrées. I accepted on the spot. The shitty pay and punishing conditions were, unfortunately, a big part of the draw, my chance to rebel against my privileged upbringing and fancy education. I wanted to be tough; I wanted to be a player in the behind-the-scenes ruckus of it, anonymous to the diners but indispensable to the team. There was something so sexy to me about being a woman in this masculine space, where I’d get dirty and sweaty flinging skillets all night. I had no idea what I was doing, but I desperately needed to prove I could do it. To them, and to myself.

At Montrachet, cooking went from a hobby to grueling work that destroyed any desire I had to cook on my days off. Or, day: Sunday. I arrived for my shift in a state of panic, which ebbed and peaked depending on factors out of my control—how many reservations were on the books, when food deliveries arrived, the amount of prep on the to-do list, Chef’s mood.

I reported to the fish cook, Max, a six-foot-tall, effortlessly cool woman with spiky, platinum hair; long, graceful fingers; and several years of kitchen experience. She intimidated me, I needed to please her, I was a little bit in love with her, and I wanted to be her. She was mysterious, humorless, and unflappable. Hot. Most of the time, I assumed she wanted to throttle me, which felt warranted given my naiveté. Fucking something up and wasting product was my main fear; as was falling behind during service. Like being sucked into a tornado, you have time to recognize your demise coming, but not enough to avoid it. No matter what was happening, I actively tried not to anger or annoy Max.

The hierarchy of a French kitchen is based on a battle brigade, and that kitchen was assigned macho at birth. My performance anxiety was coupled with the culture shock of existing in an overwhelmingly masculine environment. I expected to be ogled and I was waiting to be belittled. There was no escaping my femaleness, yet femininity had no role in the group dynamic. The process of shedding my girlhood started in the co-ed changing area when I disrobed alongside four men, then slid into a boxy white chef’s jacket and the polyester checkered pants that were cut for a man’s body. I did this as quickly as possible, staring straight into the wall. Earning respect and being less femme were entwined.

In the kitchen, I wanted to transcend “not bad for a girl.” I refused to be seen as weak, and wouldn’t let my male colleagues hoist heavy pots for me. Eventually they stopped offering. If something was out of reach, I didn’t ask long-limbed Max to get it for me, either. She’d signaled early on that she couldn’t interrupt her flow every time I needed something. Like a stubborn toddler set on doing whatever the big kids could do, I’d climb up on the stainless counters in my socked feet to fetch the tall stockpot, the steamer basket, the giant colander stored on the highest shelves. My war paint was the olive oil I’d rub on my lips when they got chapped from ducking in and out of a 500°F oven all day. I lost weight from the long days of physical labor, and Max showed me how to twist strips of plastic wrap into makeshift belts that we used to keep our pants up.

I kept up my tough-guy masquerade and assimilated to the job. I diligently followed Max’s directions, leaning into the corrections she gave me, and parroted her motions when we were in service. Within a couple of months, I went from my amuse-bouche station to finding my own physical flair on the line. I could juggle multiple skillets at once. I knew when to add water to a pan of sautéed vegetables to create a blast of steam that would finish cooking them through. I liked to hook my first two fingers into the butter at my station, then whip my wrist to launch that knob of dairy into a sauté pan and swirl it to emulsify a sauce. I was good at memorizing the combination of dishes the chef fired, murmuring, You ready? to Max at the exact moment her branzino was cooked through, the two of us turning in unison to plate the next dish.

I wasn’t excellent, but I tried really hard, and I started to feel Max soften toward me. She was always quiet and stoic during rare lulls in service, not engaging in frivolous side talk, while I wiped down our station, refilled our squeeze bottles, checked and triple-checked our backup containers. After especially long nights, she’d sometimes decide to prepare a second family meal for the cooks, and I’d help her throw together ingredients for a quick puttanesca pasta that we’d eat standing up. She told me about her fantasy of opening a super-casual fish restaurant in Northern California, with intentionally uncomfortable wooden benches for seats and a view of the coast. The concept was about as different from Montrachet as I could fathom, and it made me realize her dreams diverged radically from the predictable course we were on. She was the most punk rock, the coolest of the cool girls.

One night after work, Max invited me to get drinks at the bar on the corner, a legendary local spot that was popular with the staff. I was surprised, excited, and nervous about socializing with her, even though we were bonded at the hip for twelve hours a day, six days a week. To cope, I got absolutely shit-faced on anise-flavored Pernod and water. (Don’t ask why that old-guy aperitif was my drink at the time.) I remember realizing with embarrassment that I had never changed out of my kitchen clogs, and when I accidentally knocked over a drink and sent sticky Pernod flying all over the bar, I decided to call it a night.

The next day, I woke up to the most horrific, crushing hangover of my life. Blind with nausea, head like cement blocks grinding together, and on shaky legs, I could barely stand up without gagging. The usual antidote—a bacon-egg-and-cheese with a Coke—was out of the question. I was ill and incapacitated, but I could not call out of work. There was no one to cover my shift. Certainly not on this day, because it was Saturday, and Valentine’s Day, a notorious night to be a line cook. The dining room would be packed with two-tops to squeeze in as many doe-eyed couples as would fit. There was lobster on the prix fixe menu, which meant Max and I were going to get clobbered. If I didn’t show, she’d have to do the two-person job alone, and all of my gains would be blown to bits.

Duty called. I walked into the kitchen late, wearing sunglasses. Max took one look at me, rolled her eyes, and went back to her cutting board. Sympathy was not on the menu. First up: We had to cook and shell about sixty lobsters. I set up opposite Max; she would cook and I would process, in an assembly line. When the first batch of lobsters had met their steamy demise, she plopped them into a long metal pan, slid it across the counter to me, and turned around to do more murder. I was expected to shell as quickly as possible.

I wanted to die, but I could not quit. I twisted the tail of the lobster’s body, releasing a fragrant gust of steaming lobster guts into my face. I immediately dropped to the floor in a crouch, with one hand pressed into the rubber kitchen mat on the floor. This seemed like a logical place to wait for the nausea to pass. When I could stand again, it was back to business.

Are you going to make it? Max asked, irritated.

Me? Oh yeah, I said, I’m good.

That initial lobster established the pattern I was locked into until my crustacean circle of shell was over: liberate the tail, unleash tomalley facial, succumb, stand, proceed. This, dozens of times. When the chef walked in, he found me down on one knee, prayerful and remorseful. I heard him ask, Is she okay? Max replied: Hangover. From the floor, I chimed in: It was Pernod. He let out a groan. Pernod! You were drinking Pernod?? This is the worst hangover you can ever have. He went on and on about it, how bad Pernod hit the next day, as if I didn’t know. When I stood back up he looked me in the eye and said: Once you get on the line and start sweating, you’ll be fine. You’ll sweat it all out. Trust me. I did not believe him, but when I took my place on the hot line, either the sweat cured me, or we were too buried in tickets for me to have body awareness. I made it through the night, earning some sort of battle badge, surviving a rite of passage. I didn’t ditch. I faced the consequences. And I’m pretty sure I never drank Pernod again.

Working while sick was an unspoken part of the job, not only because we weren’t entitled to paid sick days. There were heaps of other injustices that I filed under Stuff That Toughens You Up. The suffering wasn’t saved for me, and in fact, people who had been there longer were vulnerable to far worse.

It was a package deal. I was learning to cook for real, and I was learning what it took to be a cook. I was getting paid, which meant I would stay quiet when our chef threw a molten-hot sizzle tray straight out of the salamander at the cook standing next to me, hitting him in the chest. He would do this when, say, a duck breast was undercooked. Sometimes Chef would just berate him, viciously, for overreducing the demi-glace that went with the sweetbreads. When the chef let loose, the rest of us would stand respectfully silent. I squirmed through mixed feelings of empathy for my coworker and gratitude that I wasn’t in his shoes. On more than one occasion, the captain came into the kitchen to tell the chef that his yelling was audible to the guests in the dining room. When the tantrum was over, we’d swing right back into it like nothing had happened, the kitchen noticeably more quiet afterward.

I had officially romanticized being a professional cook, the beauty and ugliness of the job balancing each other like butter and salt. Sure, the pay was shit, and no, it’s not okay to normalize workplace violence. But (here comes the irrational upside), I got to touch the most beautiful ingredients I’d ever seen—wild black trumpet mushrooms delivered in shallow cardboard boxes littered with pine needles and scraps of wet leaves from where they were foraged. Dayboat sea scallops so fresh the flesh undulated when the chef cut into them, the muscle still alive. I tasted delicacies for the first time: crosnes, Tristar strawberries, sea beans, black truffles, sweetbreads.

Every night I stood elbow-to-elbow with the fish cook on one side and the meat cook on the other, watching and learning how hot a pan had to be to sear tiny Taylor Bay scallops and encase them in lemony brown butter without overcooking them. (I still make a version of this at home with sea scallops and a spicy cumin butter.) I ate chewy nubs of duck breast anchored to crisp fat off the meat cook’s cutting board; we never sent out the end pieces, only the prized slices from the widest part of the breast. My obsessive brain was subdued by being consistent, nailing the cookery, getting my dishes up on time, not running out midservice.

It has taken me this long to detangle the hardness of that work from the nostalgia I feel about everything I learned. I believed that starting out in kitchens should be brutal; we were warned about it in cooking school the way actors are prepped for audition rejections. Surely if I wasn’t worthy of this occupation, I’d be asked to leave. In late-90s logic, being “cut out for it” meant I could (must?) handle the hardness, too. The physically taxing and emotionally draining environment validated my world view that work should be tough. (Throw every eldest daughter trope at me—I will overachieve ’til I drop.) Being a line cook was outrageous and incredible. It was exploitative and thrilling. It was a job that made me both expect and tolerate bad behavior, and unfortunately I internalized that perspective and brought it to every other workplace I entered afterward, in ways that I deeply regret. But, still. I never wanted to be anyplace more.

Montrachet taught me that fear and growth are intertwined. It helped me realize I enjoy being at the bottom of a learning curve. That’s made it easier for me to take risks ever since. I don’t miss the people I worked with; I can’t remember most of their names, except for Max, whom I’ve tried (and failed) to track down many times. I no longer accept that restaurant kitchens should be run like that. How to shell a lobster, though—I still do as I was shown, and have taught my sons to do it that way, too, minus the hangover. I preheat my carbon-steel skillet until it’s matte and near-molten to get the most glorious sear on my scallops. I can flip food in a skillet with my left hand while salt cascades from the fingers of my right, and I know how to get fish fillets to lie flat in the pan from watching Max do it over and over, all night long. It was many years before cooking at home was fun for me again, and I never want that feeling to go away. If I overcook a steak, I don’t throw hot plates. We eat it anyway, of course, with some spicy mayo to camouflage the error.

Montrachet is gone now, as is the bar on the corner (it closed and then reopened as a J.Crew, which was sad). The stinky phone booth where I used to call my husband-to-be after work doesn’t exist, either. Uber drivers don’t argue with me about going over the bridge to Brooklyn, like cabbies sometimes did when I’d splurge on a taxi home. I don’t have a single photograph from that time. In a way, I’m glad, because everything that happened there can stay exactly how I remember it. When I’m on that block in Tribeca now, I have to search to find any familiar landmarks from when I walked out of the restaurant. But if I close my eyes, it rolls like a movie. It’s hard to fathom that young woman was me, diving into a world of cooking that would become her entire life. It wasn’t a dream. The adrenaline that hit me that first night of service was a thunderbolt of pure love that I still feel for the job I chose. I’m grateful the hardness is mostly gone, and not a bit sorry for finding out who I am.

Excerpted from FOOD IS A FEELING: Recipes & Stories, With Love by Carla Lalli. Copyright © 2026 by Carla Lalli. Photographs copyright © 2026 by Lucia Bell-Epstein. Published in the United States by Clarkson Potter/Publishers, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC.

It’s back-to-school season! On our syllabus this month is a collection of smart new novels, nonfiction, short fiction, and poetry to reset your brain from summer to fall. Ahead: Emma Cline’s highly anticipated latest, The Bell Jar, if it were set in contemporary Japan, and a reissue of a 1970s cult classic satire about modern dating that still rings true. Read on for our picks of the best must-read books coming out in September 2026.

The Best Novels Coming September 2026

The Best Translated Fiction Coming in September 2026

The Best Poetry and Short Fiction Coming in September 2026

The Best Nonfiction Books Coming in September 2026

When you're looking to get lost in a book, sometimes you need your reading material to match your mood. With Marie Claire's series "Buy the Book," we do the heavy lifting for you. We're offering curated, highly specific recommendations for whatever you're looking for—whether you're in your feels or hooked on a subgenre trending on #BookTok.

As summer comes to a close, many of us are squeezing every drop out of the season's remaining days by whisking away to vacation homes. After all, there’s nothing quite like nursing hangovers by the sea, congregating with loved ones over delicious meals, or finishing a book on the sandy deck of a ramshackle beach house.

Complete with refreshing cocktails and breezy outfits, these last languid days can also lead to drama. Of course, no one sets out to spend their last bits of the season submerged under the choppy waters of hidden entanglements and broken hearts, but, well, you can’t always get what you want. For all the board games and late-night antics, summer houses can also occasionally moonlight as pressure cookers. What once was a friend’s quirk is now a grating habit. A sibling’s honking laugh: The alarm clock you never wanted. And things much darker—at least if you’re living in the world of fiction.

A riff on the locked-room trope, some of the most simmering stories have occurred in crumbling villas and musty lake houses, mirroring the deterioration of relationships, mental health, and general decorum among characters. With such a variety of houses to snoop, we’ve curated a list of novels featuring vacation homes perfect for the final hazy days of the season. Whether you’re looking for a swoony coming-of-age story or a twisty thriller, these novels offer thick tension, tricky characters, and villas you wish you could visit. Below, discover some of the best novels set at summer houses to read now.

They say to write what you know, and for Silvia Moreno-Garcia, that’s gothic horror. With muses in Edgar Allan Poe and H.P. Lovecraft, whom she wrote her Master of Arts thesis on, Moreno-Garcia first made a splash with 2015’s Signal To Noise—a novel about a teen witch who casts musical spells.

She has since become a master of the genre, with her 2020 hit Mexican Gothic quickly becoming a New York Times bestseller. In the years since, it's frequently been cited as one of the best mystery-thriller books not just of the decade, but of all time. “I love genre fiction, and I love horror,” the author has said.

But simple ghost stories, these are not: Moreno-Garcia’s works are deeply rooted in history and culture, addressing power dynamics through lenses of race, class, and gender. Set in her native country of Mexico, Mexican Gothic explores elements of colonialism and eugenics, for instance, while 2023's Silver Nitrate deals with Nazi occultism.

Whether you’re looking for a spooky fantasy for the season ahead or you’re merely craving an antidote to all the fluffy beach reads you’ve had your nose buried in all summer, there’s a Moreno-Garcia title for you. Read on to find all 12 of Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s books, ranked.

Every Silvia Moreno-Garcia Book, Ranked

What order should you read Silvia Moreno-Garcia's books in?

All of Moreno-Garcia's books are standalone novels, so you can read them in any order you like. For some, that will mean starting with the bestsellers, like Mexican Gothic or The Daughter of Doctor Moreau (especially if you want to dive in before it hits the small screen).

Others, however, may prefer to read them in the order in which they were published. To do so, you’ll want to start with her first book, Signal To Noise, released in 2015, and make your way down the list below. Or, you could go in reverse by picking up her newest fare, the seductive The Intrigue, and working your way backward from there.

• Signal To Noise (2015)
• Certain Dark Things (2016)
• The Beautiful Ones (2017)
• Gods of Jade and Shadow (2019)
• Untamed Shore (2020)
• Mexican Gothic (2020)
• Velvet Was the Night (2021)
• The Daughter of Doctor Moreau (2022)
• Silver Nitrate (2023)
• Seventh Veil of Salome (2024)
• The Bewitching (2025)
• The Intrigue (2026)

If your appetite for horror borders on voracious, you don’t have to stop there: In addition to Moreno-Garcia’s full-length catalog, she has several novellas and short story collections. You can read those in order, as follows:

• This Strange Way of Dying (2013)
• Other Lives (2013)
• Love and Other Poisons (2014)
• Prime Meridian (2017)
• The Return of the Sorceress (2021)
• The Tiger Came to the Mountains (2022)
• The Lover (2023)
• The Lure of the Stone (2025)

What is Silvia Moreno-Garcia's best-selling book?

Mexican Gothic is Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s most popular and best-selling novel. In fact, according to JABerwocky Literary Agency, the thriller about entrapment sold over 650,000 copies three years after its 2020 publication, peaked within the top 10 of the New York Times Best Sellers list, and was among the finalists for the prestigious genre award, the Bram Stoker Award.

The novel has captivated readers with its slow-burn horror story, as heroine Noemí’s nightmares gradually become her reality. “I had a 70/30 rule. For 70 percent of the book, things would go a bit slow and quiet, and then at the last 30 percent, all hell would break loose,” Moreno-Garcia explained to PEN America. "You can’t create something suspenseful by dangling a ghost on every other page."

Is there a sequel to 'Mexican Gothic' by Silvia Moreno-Garcia?

There is no sequel to Mexican Gothic, but Moreno-Garcia’s hit thriller will soon be reimagined as a graphic novel. According to PEOPLE, the project will be published by Random House Worlds’ comic book imprint, BOOM!

A collaboration between Moreno-Garcia and Steph C. Solis (The Body Was Never Found), the forthcoming release will hit shelves in 2027. “It has been fun writing the script for this adaptation and talking to Steph about what we could do visually to translate the novel into a different format,” Moreno-Garcia told the outlet.

The pair relied on vivid colors to bring the joint project to life. The novelist added, “When many people think Gothic, they think gloomy and grey, but I asked Steph to consider the bold use of color in Hammer films from the 1950s and classic giallos like Suspiria."

Are any of Silvia Moreno-Garcia's books being adapted into movies or TV shows?

Readers will get to see at least one of Moreno-Garcia's beloved works come to life!

It won't be Mexican Gothic, though. Husband-and-wife duo Kelly Ripa and Mark Consuelos previously sought to bring the novel to the screen with a Hulu series produced by their Milojo Productions, but it's since been shelved. The author gave fans an update on Instagram in 2024, explaining, "Hulu did not renew the option for Mexican Gothic: so no show will be made."

However, in 2025, another one of Moreno-Garcia's novels was optioned. Deadline reported that writer/producer Debra Moore Muñoz  (Mayans M.C., DMZ) is adapting The Daughter of Doctor Moreau.

The author, who will co-executive produce the show, expressed her excitement over the project, telling the outlet in a statement, “The Daughter of Doctor Moreau is a mixture of science fiction, historical fiction and drama set in lush, 19th-century Yucatan, and I’m excited to see this part of Mexico come to life on the screen in all its beauty and complexity.”

Why Trust Us

Books—and the authors who bring them to life—are a huge part of not only what we do here at Marie Claire; they’re who we are. By day, we’re writing book reviews, curating reading shopping lists, interviewing buzzy authors and literary magazine founders, and ranking our favorite authors’ catalogs. And when we’re done with a long day’s work? We’re conducting research—A.K.A. reading—just for the sheer joy of it. We totally get your next-to-unhealthy obsession with ACOTAR, because we’re chomping at the bit for Book 6, too. Like you, we’re staying up way too late flipping the pages of Lisa Jewell’s every thriller. And don’t even get us started on that new Carley Fortune’s latest adaptation. In short? You can trust us, ‘cause we’re book people.

It's been 12 years since the publication of Big Little Lies, a novel so enthralling that it inspired an Emmy-winning HBO adaptation and sent author Liane Moriarty's career into orbit. Now, Moriarty is publishing the sequel fans have long begged for—and if you're excited about season 3 of the show, it doubles as a sneak peek: The plot of the third season, currently "in process," per Reese Witherspoon, will be rooted in Moriarty's sequel, Big Little Truths.

As Moriarty clarifies in her author's note: "Big Little Truths is a sequel to the book, not the series. It follows the book's narrative." That said, the series' award-winning performances did impact Big Little Truths, out August 25. Mary-Louise, Perry's mother, was nowhere to be found in Moriarty's original novel—but was "played so deliciously by the extraordinary Meryl Streep...that [the sequel] had to feature Mary-Louise, albeit an Australian version of her," the author writes. Additionally, while Renata was a small character in the book, Laura Dern's Golden Globe-winning portrayal of Renata Klein was so magnificent, Moriarty writes, "that I had no choice but to give her more prominence in Big Little Truths."

Ahead, we speak to Moriarty about how the HBO adaptation made itself felt during her writing process, moving through life alongside her cast of characters, and how she manifested Streep as Mary-Louise.

Marie Claire: First, I wanted to ask about bringing Mary-Louise to life in Big Little Truths. I'd love to hear about that process for you—seeing Meryl Streep on-screen, and then creating the character of Mary Louise in your sequel.

Liane Moriarty: I actually created the role of Mary-Louise for Meryl Streep. When I was first writing [a continuation of the Big Little Lies story], I ended up calling it a novella for season 2. [In 2019, that novella was adapted by David E. Kelley into the screenplay for the second season of the HBO series.]

I had always said, "I'm not going to write a sequel." But then they started talking about season 2, and I had ideas; I was saying, "Maybe you could do this, or that." Eventually I said, "Okay, I'll write something." So I ended up writing 50,000 words. But before that, I was talking to my sister [the author Jaclyn Moriarty] and saying, "Should I do it?" And she said, "You should only do it if you'd have fun with it. You could write a role for your favorite actress."

And that's when I said, "Okay, well, I'm going to write a role for Meryl Streep." I thought, "I will find out Meryl's middle name, and I'll call the character by her middle name." And I looked her up, and that's when I found out that her real name, or her given name, is Mary Louise. And Mary-Louise worked perfectly for the character.

When I finished it, I told the producers about my audacity in creating a role for Meryl Streep. They were joking with me, "Oh, look at you, Liane. You've become so Hollywood! You're on the phone saying, Get me Meryl!" So we were all just laughing about it. But then, a few months later, I got a text message saying, "We got you Meryl."

It was an unbelievable career highlight: That I asked for Meryl and got Meryl.

If they had written the Mary-Louise role and it was nothing to do with me, even if she was wonderful, I don't think I would have felt I could put her in my book. She wouldn't have felt like she belonged to me. But because she still felt like my Mary-Louise, even though she was created for the show, and because people loved her so much, I put her in the [second] book. And of course, because I'd written her always with Meryl Streep in mind, I never saw any version of her except as Meryl.

MC: You published Big Little Lies 12 years ago. Are the characters in Big Little Truths exactly 12 years older now?

LM: I'm calling it a decade.

MC: The series hadn't come out when I first read the first book [when it was published in 2014]. But when I read this book, I imagined a lot of those characters as the actors who played them. As you were writing the sequel, how did you imagine those characters? From the show, from the first book, or a combination?

LM: I think they became morphed versions—except for Renata, because Renata played such a small role in the first book. And Laura Dern made that character her own—even though she was so much more attractive than my imagined Renata! So I allowed Laura Dern to just take over.

But with the other three, I kept seeing my original characters. So, for example, my Madeline had dark hair. Obviously, Madeline [on-screen, played by Reese Witherspoon] had blonde hair. And so I made a point of not mentioning her hair, because I knew readers would be doing that same thing.

And I could tell I was letting the actors into my head a bit. I had a line where Celeste's talking to Jane, and Jane says, "You can't hide behind a bush because you're too tall." And I thought, "Oh, that's your scene, Nicole [Kidman], now," because I don't think I ever particularly made a point of [Celeste's height].

I always make a point with other books: I'm not thinking of a potential adaptation at all. But with Big Little Truths, I wanted to own the fact that the show affected my writing.

MC: You mentioned Laura Dern. Renata had a role in the first book—but it's so magnified in the second book.

LM: Just because I loved Laura's portrayal so much. In a way, it was annoying because I have too many characters in my books, and readers find it hard to keep track of them. I know readers, and I do understand that. So ideally I would not have had Renata playing such a big role—but Laura just took over, and I could not resist.

MC: And in the second book, Renata has the same impact on the narrative as she does in the show. She stomps in and makes her presence known.

LM: I should give credit there to not just Laura Dern, but to David E. Kelly, who gave Laura Dern so many wonderful lines.

MC: When it came to the first book, you've said that the inspiration came from a few different sources. A friend who attended an Audrey and Elvis trivia night; another friend who found bite marks on her kid's arm. What inspired the sequel's themes?

LM: I'd actually started writing another book set in a high school with different characters. I'd written two or three chapters of that—and that probably would have been a different book.

But then, all this talk—Should there be a Big Little Lies sequel? There would always be surges of interest in it. And it came up again that they really wanted to do a new season of Big Little Lies. And that's when I suddenly thought, "I could give that storyline to the Big Little Lies world."

But I can still remember those first few chapters. I remember those characters.

MC: One throughline of Big Little Truths is about the sandwich generation—squeezed by the needs of both your parents and your children. The mothers are 10 years older than in the first book, so they have teenagers, and some have aging parents. Do you feel like you've grown up with them?

LM: It's a throughline in all my books. My first book [Three Wishes] was written in my early 30s, and the characters were in their early 30s. All my characters have just gotten older along with me. And other authors, like Margaret Drabble—as I was reading her books, I was realizing that the characters are getting older. So I'm just doing exactly the same thing.

I remember reading books when I was in my 30s and reading about women in their 50s and thinking, "Oh, that's interesting." They're still sort of real. As in, that they still have a rich inner life—a woman in her 50s. And I think—obviously I would never have said that out loud—but I think I subconsciously thought, "They're just sort of blobby people."

My mother is in her early 80s. She had me when she was 24. You always feel, "I'm catching up to her." I can clearly remember her 60th birthday. And now my 60th birthday is coming up. All my school friends and I, we all can't believe we're turning 60. It's hilarious that we're turning 60. And I find that fascinating. I find women in their 60s fascinating. So now I'll keep writing about them.

MC: I know you likely can't share much about Big Little Lies season 3, but are you excited?

LM: I am excited. I don't think there's anything to share yet—but it'll be based on this book. And it's by the writer of Mr & Mrs Smith [on Prime Video], Francesca Sloane. She'll do her own thing with this book. She'll make it fit with the last two seasons. I'll be interested in seeing it; I quite enjoy seeing some plots that I have nothing to do with. Because then I'm just watching as a viewer. Whereas, if they're sticking to my plot, then I'm thinking, "Oh, no, that's not quite right."

I always joke about this: In the first scene of Big Little Lies, Madeline does her ankle. And when I first saw it, I thought, "No, that's not how you do your ankle." Because I'm always doing my ankle, and my ankle flips in this particular direction—and [Reese Witherspoon] flipped forward. It's of no consequence. But if I did allow myself to be really involved, that's when I'd be saying, "Reese, your ankle flips like this." [Laughs] Which is why it's good that I'm very hands-off.

MC: The books and the show are such different and incredible products, in many ways.

LM: I think that's the way to look at it. I think some people think, "Oh, but it's not the same as your book." Or, "I hope they don't change your book." And I always say, "But nobody can change my book. There's my book, and there's your experience of reading the book. Which is a tiny bit different in every single person's experience."

This interview has been condensed and edited.

Friendships don’t always get their due in discussions about the most important human relationships we can form, but they’re definitely up there. And that just might be why friends-to-lovers romances are so compelling: They start with an already intimate relationship that blossoms into even more over time, creating connections practically too powerful to be torn asunder.

The trope has been around for centuries, from Shakespeare’s 17th-century stories of comrades-turned-lovers in plays like Much Ado About Nothing and Twelfth Night to Jane Austen writing about the evolution of Emma Woodhouse and George Knightley’s relationship in Emma circa 1815. And who could forget Louisa May Alcott’s description of Laurie’s less-than-successful attempt to take his friendship with Jo March to another level in Little Women?

Since then, fortunately for the friends-to-lovers lovers among us, bookshelves have remained packed with plenty more slow-burn love stories between once-platonic pals. Here are 10 of the very best of the genre—each of which may or may not have you looking at your own besties in a new light. (And when you’re ready to make your way through yet another swoonworthy romance trope, check out our lists of the best enemies-to-lovers, fake-dating, and forbidden romance books.)

The Best Friends-to-Lovers Books

Classic Friends-to-Lovers Books

Fake Relationship Friends-to-Lovers Books

Forced Proximity Friends-to-Lovers Books

Love Triangle Friends-to-Lovers Books

Secret Pining Friends-to-Lovers Books

Second Chance Friends-to-Lovers Books

When you're looking to get lost in a book, sometimes you need your reading material to match your mood. With Marie Claire's series "Buy the Book," we do the heavy lifting for you. We're offering curated, highly specific recommendations for whatever you're looking for—whether you're in your feels or hooked on a subgenre trending on #BookTok.

In this author-curated rendition, Malavika Kannan—activist, Quarter Life Crisis Substack writer, and author of YA novels All the Yellow Suns and The Bookweaver's Daughter—shares what coming-of-age stories inspired her adult debut, Unprecedented Times.

Not every writer is hailed as a voice of their generation, but Malavika Kannan has been since her teens. The 25-year-old established herself as a teenage activist, building a following while organizing movements like March for Our Lives and the Women’s March, and has written viral essays on Gen Z media and politics. So when it came to writing her first adult novel, she knew she wanted it to be “a good Gen Z novel.”

“My favorite musician Nina Simone once said it's an artist's duty to ‘reflect the times,’” Kannan tells Marie Claire. “I set out to write a novel with plot—but also a novel of ideas, theorizing about community, kinship, and identity.”

The result is Unprecedented Times, which examines the impact of “the pandemic, climate change, and other forms of systemic 21st-century violence on young Americans.” It’s a timeless coming-of-age story—yet one that will feel all too familiar to those whose campus experiences were put on pause by COVID-19. The highly anticipated novel, out August 18, follows Stanford freshman Rishi as she retreats to a farming collective across the country when her classes turn virtual in 2020.

“I like the coming-of-age genre because, in real time, you can see women making choices for their lives (and facing the consequences for them),” says Kannan, who’s published two YA hits. “My main theme as a writer is the question of agency in women's lives: What personal and political factors shape the choices we make?”

She explains that contemporary fiction by female authors—largely published during the first Trump presidency—informed her adult debut. They were her “gateway drug” in falling back in love with reading during the pandemic, and wound up on her bibliography once Unprecedented Times first took form as her Stanford honors thesis. “It made me see my work as part of a tradition, like I was picking up the call in a long game of telephone, adding in my own political and formal innovations.”

Below, Kannan shares the books that inspired her new release, from collegiate bestsellers to certified classics.

Even if you’re not a member of a book club yourself, odds are you’ve chosen an enlightening, engrossing read based on a trusted recommendation. Gone are the days when book clubs and their selections were only associated with the wine-drunk mom stereotype; they’ve become even more en vogue and a way to connect. Not only that, but celebrity book clubs and local reading groups are an important part of the literary ecosystem. They pick through the hundreds of thousands of books—over 642,000 in 2025 alone—that come out of publishing houses every year, elevating both highly anticipated releases and under-the-radar gems in hopes of delighting discerning readers. And of course, the real fun comes from discussing each month’s read with your most well-read friends.

The best book-club pick stretches the reader’s mind through complex relationships between nuanced characters and thrilling plots that touch on real-life history, or shrewd commentary on society’s flaws past and present. Whether you need a new recommendation or are even planning your own meetup, here are some books sure to start conversation, from underrated classics to shocking whodunits to layered love stories. Below, read on for the best book-club picks that should jump to the top of your lists.

The Best Literary Fiction You Need to Read in Book Club Next

The Best Thrillers You Need to Read in Book Club Next

The Best Nonfiction You Need to Read in Book Club

The Best Romance Novels to Read in Book Club

When you're looking to get lost in a book, sometimes you need your reading material to match your mood. With Marie Claire's series "Buy the Book," we do the heavy lifting for you. We're offering curated, highly specific recommendations for whatever you're looking for—whether you're in your feels or hooked on a subgenre trending on #BookTok.

In this author-curated rendition, Téa Obreht, the bestselling author of novels like the National Book Award finalist The Tiger's Wife, Inland, and The Morningside, shares contemporary westerns that redefine the genre. The following novels—murder mysteries, historical fiction, and stories about people who were very much part of the Wild West but have far too often been overlooked—were on Obreht's reading list while working on her highly anticipated new release, Sunrise. See her recommendations below.

Modern readers sometimes raise an eyebrow at the idea of a Western, and for good reason. The genre’s origins lie with pulp novels of the 1800s, whose goal was to make westward expansion and frontier life not just palatable, but romantic, to the broadest possible audience. The heroes of these first westerns were men: noble “white hats” with modest dreams, moral codes, and clearly delineated nemeses. The first generation of western revisionists—writers like Larry McMurtry, Charles Portis, and Cormac McCarthy—interrogated and complicated the easy, white heroism of the genre’s foundational literature. In recent years, a chorus of contemporary American voices has returned to the West to reimagine its mythos and dig deeper into its marginalized histories, plastered-over sins, and easy tropes. Here are seven books of the New West.

Sunrise by Téa Obreht is out now.

When you're looking to get lost in a book, sometimes you need your reading material to match your mood. With Marie Claire's series "Buy the Book," we do the heavy lifting for you. We're offering curated, highly specific recommendations for whatever you're looking for—whether you're in your feels or hooked on a subgenre trending on #BookTok.

While summer is a time of unwinding, it’s also a time of sweat. Whether you’re enduring the heat dome hellscape on the East Coast, evaporating your soul in the desert, or simmering in humidity down south, chances are, you’re mighty tired of being hot and tired.

Listen, a little back perspiration is bound to make a gal go mad. Perhaps you’ve experienced the same during the long, unyielding days of summer. Thankfully, there’s an easy fix: Blast the air conditioning, post up poolside or in the shade of your favorite tree, and fling yourself into fiction. Misery likes company, so they say, and fortunately, there are loads of novels featuring heatwaves and irritable characters trying to slog through life as temperatures keep climbing, contributing to pressure-cooker plots.

Whether you’re sticking to the classics, delving into your favorite author’s backlist, or branching out of your comfort zone this summer, these books teem with drama. Remember your SPF, but here are the best heatwave books to sink into all season long—or in any season, for that matter.

August is here; out-of-office emails abound as the world exhales before it goes back to school, work, and routines. Take advantage of the downtime to catch up on reading. This month brings a collection of new novels and nonfiction to help you soak in summer’s last month.

Ahead are stories of limerence, friendship, and frivolity that take you to 20th-century Barcelona, the packed trains of Tokyo, or a desolate island in the Pacific Northwest. Read on for our picks of the best must-read books coming out in August 2026.

The Best Books Coming in August 2026

The Best Fiction You Need to Read in August 2026

The Best Nonfiction You Need to Read in August 2026

Turns out we won’t be leaving Silver Falls any time soon: Netflix has officially renewed the coming-of-age drama My Life with the Walter Boys for a fourth season, with the news coming before the now-streaming third season premiered on August 6, 2026. Based on the Wattpad sensation-turned-novel by Ali Novak, the series follows Jackie Howard (Nikki Rodriguez), who moves in with her mom’s best friend’s family in small-town Colorado after her family is tragically killed in a car crash. As Jackie acclimates to the change of pace from her Manhattan roots, she finds herself in a love triangle with two of the brothers living under the roof.

While the first season of the series is largely lifted from Novak’s novel, the subsequent seasons have evolved the story across many different characters and plot points—and season 4 will be no different. Ahead, we break down everything we know about the forthcoming My Life with the Walter Boys season 4.

Everything We Know About 'My Life with the Walter Boys' Season 4

Is 'My Life with the Walter Boys' renewed for season 4?

In May 2026, a few months ahead of the season 3 premiere, Netflix officially confirmed My Life with the Walter Boys will return for a fourth season, signaling the popularity of the YA series. The Tudum announcement noted that this is the second consecutive year in which My Life with the Walter Boys was renewed before the forthcoming season’s premiere.

When will 'My Life with the Walter Boys' season 4 come out?

The streamer has revealed that new episodes can be expected in 2027. “I know I speak for the writers, the cast, and the crew when I say that it is beyond exciting to be returning to the world of Silver Falls for a fourth season,” showrunner and executive producer Melanie Halsall told Tudum. “We are all incredibly grateful and are thrilled to dive in.”

Seasons 2 and 3 of the hit romance series have been released in the summer, and it seems like season 4 could do the same. In early August—just as the new slate of season 3 episodes hit streaming—Netflix announced that the show had already picked the cameras back up. It shared a sweet photo of the main trio back on set on social media, along with a caption confirming season 4 was in production.

With filming already underway, it definitely seems feasible for season 4 to arrive in summer 2027—though we probably won't have an official release date until sometime next year.

Who in the 'My Life with the Walter Boys' cast will return for season 4?

My Life with the Walter Boys wouldn't be the same without the leads—Nikki Rodriguez (Jackie Howard), Noah LaLonde (Cole Walter), and Ashby Gentry (Alex Walter)—so they'll inevitably return. Netflix confirmed as much, based on the photo it shared of them back on set at the ranch.

Much of the supporting cast will also likely return, including the Walter matriarch and patriarch played by Sarah Rafferty and Marc Blucas, as well as the other Walter siblings (and cousins) portrayed by Corey Fogelmanis (Nathan), Connor Stanhope (Danny), Dean Petriw (Jordan), Lennix James (Benny), Alix West Lefler (Parker), Myles Perez (Lee), and Isaac Arellanes (Isaac). The various significant others and friends amidst the Walter family will also likely return, meaning we’ll see more of Jaylan Evans (Skylar), Alisha Newton (Erin), Ellie O'Brien (Grace), Mya Lowe (Kylie), and Kolton Stewart (Dylan). Jackie’s uncle Richard, played by Alex Quijano, could continue to recur in season 4—and his intern Eliot (Naveen Paddock), whom Jackie kisses in the season 3 finale, seems likely to return after that major cliffhanger.

Eldest son Will and his fiancée Hayley, played onscreen by Johnny Link and Zoë Soul, are question marks, as their plans to move to Atlanta were announced in season 3. Similarly, Erin Karpluk, who appeared in season 3 as Lee and Isaac’s mom Hannah, could reappear in season 4, though it’s unlikely given the conclusion of her arc.

What would 'My Life with the Walter Boys' season 4 be about?

Like previous seasons, season 3 ends on a few cliffhangers: Following Jackie and Cole's mid-season break-up, Jackie sees her childhood friend Eliot in a new light and shares a kiss with him, while Cole's life is in danger after a drag race gone wrong. The series also introduces a new love triangle with best friends Alex and Kiley kissing despite her dating Dylan.

The exact plot of season 4 has not yet been revealed—but with Cole's fate hanging in the balance, his pre-race clarity, and the amount of miscommunication that fueled Jackie and Cole's break-up, we're sure to see those lovebirds find their way back to each other in season 4. Halsall told Tudum, “Our story’s about love and romance and love triangles and all those teenage trials and tribulations around those things, and we’re not going to divert from those—so much, much more of that to come in season 4.”

Halsall also spoke to Deadline about her choice to end season 3 with so many stories up in the air. "We like to subvert expectations and make people desperate for more and make people shout at their screen because they can’t believe it’s over," she explained. "It felt like the right place to leave the characters for now after everything that’s happened in this season."

The showrunner shared that the team always knew season 3 would end how it did—and that they know where the entire series is headed. While speaking to The Hollywood Reporter, Halsall said, "I definitely have a story in mind...Obviously things adapt and change while you’re writing. But the overall sense of where we’ll end up remains more or less the same." It hasn't been confirmed whether season 4 will be the show's final installment, but it sounds like there will eventually be a satisfying conclusion to its ultimate will-they-won't-they.

For now, continue to check back, as we'll keep this story updated as more information becomes available.

The next book on every literary It girl's shelf? Kitten by Stacey Yu. The debut novel from the London-based Chinese-American author publishes August 4 and centers on a young woman named Katie's post-graduation unraveling. But it's not just unemployment malaise and mommy issues contributing to her downward spiral; it's a growing obsession with none other than her older, wealthier boyfriend's cat. Katie forms a peculiar connection with the feline, Silver, while visiting her beau's vacation home and can't help but feel envious of how easy her life seems.

As Katie grows increasingly disoriented, the beguiling, biting novel explores the political, economic, and social implications of who gets to be "helpless." In writing, Yu—who's cultivated a following on #BookTok as @literaryfling—spent a lot of time reflecting on many contemporary young women's embrace of identifying as "just a girl." To coincide with the highly anticipated book's release, the rising author shared an essay with Marie Claire to unpack thoughts on the rise of what she calls the "girlbaby," and how it might just be the nihilistic, equally flawed little sister of the "girlboss."

I was an outspoken feminist in high school, so of course I was gifted a copy of #Girlboss. The author Sophia Amoruso, founder of Nasty Gal, had just invented one of the most popular neologisms in recent feminist and internet history. (Yes, the hashtag was part of the title. It was 2014.) While the title would become a cultural buzzword, the book itself would become irrelevant.

At the time, I couldn’t even bring myself to finish it. I found Amoruso’s shamelessness off-putting compared to my own teenage uncertainty. Still, I kept the book prominent on my shelf, hoping some part of it would rub off on me. I can be forgiven for that, since I had just turned 16. I didn’t know how to be a girlboss, but by God I would try. There were years to go before the term would gain a stink, alongside the shallow corporate feminism and neoliberal logic it represented. First, it would crumble under the attention of anyone with a whiff of class consciousness. Then it would die the ultimate death, becoming a meme.

Girlbosses, of a sort, are still everywhere. Successful, ambitious women have always existed, long before culture coined a word for them. We tend to invent terms to describe the things women do (hot girl walks) and eat (girl dinner) and read (chick lit) and buy (girl math), always through the lens of the girl. These labels infuse normal behaviors with outsized gendered importance while also rendering them completely banal. Women deploy them with an ironic grin, in on our own relentless self-construction. Meanwhile, outside of disparaging women, men don’t really use these terms at all.

Yet there is a sticking power to “girlboss” that the other terms don’t have. Sailing on the culture-shifting tide of Sheryl Sandberg’s Lean In, the concept of the girlboss offered a new, fashionable way of being, answering to the anxieties of working under the patriarchy. “Girlboss” had narrative power, offering a compelling arc women could aspire to, considering the systemic inequalities of the time. Per the logic of 2010s mainstream feminism, barriers faced by women, though undeniable, could be overcome with a bit of grit and the right attitude.

Obviously, this was a lie, and most women don’t buy it anymore. A decade or so later, the same structural issues of labor production and gender inequality have barely budged, and the Overton window has shifted so far that Roe v. Wade is now off the table. Millennial optimism has been overtaken by skepticism and mistrust. Girlbosses aren’t just misguided; they’re cringeworthy. So, what do we believe in? What is the aspirational identity for young women today? Not the girlboss, now proven to be a sham. Now is the time of the girlbaby.

The girlbaby knows that life is hard and mean and senseless, and it isn’t her problem. The girlbaby won’t be tricked into fighting a losing battle. The girlbaby could not care less about a raise. Ever the nihilist, the girlbaby suspects the feminists were wrong all along. Then again, so were the left, and obviously the far-right, too—everyone was wrong about everything. The girlbaby is sometimes confused for the traditional male-devotee type, but she hangs out with all crowds because no one can resist a bit of escape. The girlbaby is as pure and trusting as she is damaged and disdainful, and all these qualities make her immune to judgment. The girlbaby refuses to engage. The girlbaby finds safety in retreat. Where the girlboss was more “boss” than “girl,” the girlbaby is just as much “girl” as “baby,” and she thrills in the closeness of the two words, the way they can so often be interchanged. The girlbaby is “just a girl:” helpless, blameless, and oblivious. More than she wants to be loved, the girlbaby wants to be absolved. She wants to live in this frightening, unpredictable world and owe it nothing.

I do not mean to be disparaging. At least, not completely. Just like the fantasy of the girlboss answered the material anxieties of women in the 2010s, the fantasy of the girlbaby does the same for many young women today, either old enough to be disappointed by unfulfilled promises of upward mobility or just beginning to come of age into an economic and sociopolitical maelstrom. Better to be numb and accepting in such circumstances. Whether it’s the rise of the stay-at-home-girlfriend, quiet quitting, or waves of nostalgia-spurred internet trends, the girlbaby, and her promises of comfort and familiarity, is running quite the successful campaign.

Certainly, part of this conversation is about the sexualized ways women are incentivized to infantilize themselves for the male gaze. And sometimes, women utilize the aesthetics and language of the girl to reclaim them, refusing to cede them to the worst impulses of the patriarchy, such as in the case of the babydoll dress. But when I say girlbaby, I’m not referring to a sexualized façade of helplessness—though it can express itself as such—but rather a way of seeing and making sense of our position within the world.

The girlbaby’s less harmful yet quietly revealing influences can be seen online. Linguistic trends spread mimetically, integrating themselves into our daily vernacular and eventually our habits and self-perception. “Little treat” culture repackages consumerism through the language of the child, validating our need to reward ourselves for completing simple tasks of adulthood. “I’m just a girl” has become the catch-all, self-mollifying response du jour. Even when delivered with an ironic ditziness, the phrase pleasures in its proclamation of helplessness. Ironically, “just a girl” is a reference to No Doubt’s 1995 feminist anthem of the same name, which brazenly mocked the idiocy of a male-dominated society.

Of course, Peter Pan syndrome wasn’t invented by our generation. But I’m interested in the way it’s expressed differently. I’m old enough to remember the now desperately earnest slogan of the 2010s: “Adulting is hard.” Tech companies like Google and Facebook designed their offices, signage, and organizational language explicitly to resemble a college campus and Disneyland, respectively. These iterations of self-infantilization as a way to respond to the pressures of adulthood feel remarkably simple, direct, and boundaried. People seemed to think of themselves as adults first, but with inner children who needed tending to. Now, I can’t help but feel a tendency among young adults to insist on our child selves; we’re surprised to find ourselves fully grown, capable adults in a world we are responsible in part for building. I certainly felt that way in my early to mid-20s, perhaps a consequence of moving back home in my final year of college and graduating into a global pandemic. (Or maybe I just have a nostalgic disposition.)

The girlbaby isn’t just an outfit for social media or a cute deflection to use against the challenges of the outside world. On some level, we internalize this image of ourselves, too. Our lives are no doubt shaped by the circumstances of our times, but most of our woes, dramas, and pain are personal. I have felt the appeal of girlbabying most while facing the unique, daily pressures that come with growing older, building my career, negotiating shifting relationships, and navigating housing. This is another reason I don’t condemn the girlbaby completely. The figure represents the fantasy familiar to all of us of stepping out of real life for a while. My escapist tendencies flare up the most when I’m coming up against personal difficulties, not societal ones. Sometimes, I want nothing more than a break from being myself.

Words such as “girlboss” and culturally omnipresent roles like “it girl” and “cool girl”, as well as trends like “girl dinner” or “hot girl walks,” owe their appeal to our age-old desire, as women, to first make sense of ourselves through the eyes of society, and then to present ourselves as such to society. Self-categorization is a human instinct, to be sure—but it is also a particularly feminine one, a way to legitimize ourselves in a social context where we are constantly scrutinized. Ironically, these labels can then trap us, reinforcing our desire for validation and relying on infantilizing stereotypes.

Still, these categories also give us something to challenge. Corporate preening and meme-ification aside, “girlboss” has left us with something important. By putting a name to the aspirational model of 2010s feminism, we have an archetype we can criticize, allowing us to agree on the evidence of the hollowness of its promise. We have learned not just to distrust the girlboss, but also to build a necessary cynicism over any similar label that offers identity formation as a structural cure. We should learn from the girlboss moment and apply the same lessons to our more modern and cynical role model. She may make us feel safe and innocent, but she also tricks us into throwing up our hands, accepting the worst, and relinquishing what little control we do have in shaping our lives. The girlbaby has her moments, but we can’t trust her, either.

Kitten by Stacey Yu is out now.

Sports-romance is certainly having a moment—and not just on #BookTok. As romance book-to-series adaptations have started to take over our streaming services, the subgenre has proven particularly popular in the pipeline, with hits like Heated Rivalry to Off Campus.

There's certainly no shortage of romance books worth getting the on-screen treatment—but if you've been hoping for more LGBTQ+ love stories, you can get excited because one of the most popular sapphic soccer romances is headed to Prime Video. In spring 2026, the streamer confirmed that it will soon release a TV series based on Meryl Wilsner’s Cleat Cute. The 2023 book about two female soccer players who have tension on the field and even greater sexual tension on the sidelines marked Wilsner's third queer novel and has since become a TikTok hit and USA TODAY bestseller.

The series, retitled Playing the Field, will center on the Cleat Cute leads Grace and Phoebe, but also expand into an ensemble comedy. Wilsner, who is among the executive producers, has expressed how they're championing whatever is to come. "As a consumer, I can't stop thinking how lucky we are to get multiple versions of queer stories across different media," they wrote in an April 2026 Facebook post. "I'm so excited to see where [they take] my favorite fictional soccer lesbians!"

Read on for everything we know about the Cleat Cute adaptation Playing the Field so far.

What is 'Cleat Cute' about?

Cleat Cute unfolds as a classic rival-to-lovers story about a veteran national soccer team star named Grace and her new teammate, Phoebe, who just took her spot on the field after an injury. It’s all fun and flirtation between the two of them until Grace has recovered enough to get back on the field, where she’ll be competing against her new situationship for a spot on the World Cup roster. Both women will have to decide what's really important to them—and what they're each willing to give up.

According to Deadline, the TV adaptation will use the couple’s tension-filled relationship as the “anchor” to the show, which will showcase the “sexy, messy, and exciting” lives of four different players on the soccer team.

Who is involved behind-the-scenes of Prime Video's 'Cleat Cute' TV adaptation 'Playing the Field?'

When Deadline confirmed an adaptation was in the works in April 2026, the outlet revealed Sarah Tapscott—who previously wrote and produced on hit series like New Girl, The Sex Lives of College Girls, and more—will lead Playing the Field as showrunner, executive producer, and writer.

"When I tell you this could not be in better hands, I mean it," Wilsner gushed of Tapscott via a post on Facebook. "Within five minutes of meeting her over Zoom, I knew she was our showrunner. She's fucking hilarious, to put it mildly."

There are a few thrilling names beyond Tapscott, as well. Bringing the professional athlete expertise are former WNBA player Sue Bird and former USWNT soccer star Megan Rapinoe, who both serve as executive producers. Wilsner also sung praises of them, writing, "I mean come on, Megan and Sue...Everyone working on this project is fantastic."

Additional producers include Wilsner themselves, Jeff Wachtel (Murder in a Small Town, Good Cop/Bad Cop), Jared Berenholz (Murder in a Small Town), Camille Bernier-Green, and Emily Rasenick.

What has Meryl Wilsner said about the 'Cleat Cute' TV adaptation 'Playing the Field?'

Wilsner has made it clear to fans that while they are an executive producer of the show, they're very open to any liberties that Tapscott may take with their work. "Cleat Cute is one of my favorite books I’ve written, but that’s what it is. A book,” they explained in a Facebook post. "Playing the Field is not my baby. As a creator, I love seeing someone else’s take on the characters, and I can’t emphasize enough how great [Tapscott] is."

When will the 'Cleat Cute' TV adaptation 'Playing the Field' be released?

There is no release date for Playing the Field. It might be a while before it hits streaming, too. Wilsner has described the timeline as "vague."

"There are many, many, *many* steps to making a TV show," they wrote to fans in April 2026. "The basics of the show—script, outline, general vibe—are being established. This is a very fun stage, but it’s not the same as being in production."

Considering it's still early days for the series and casting hasn't begun (more on that below!), the finished product might not hit our screens until at least 2028.

Why is the name changed from 'Cleat Cute' to 'Playing the Field?'

The Cleat Cute title has notably been changed to Playing the Field for the TV show (not unlike Prime Video's decision to shift Every Summer After to Every Year After for its Carley Fortune adaptation). Wilsner opened up about the change, explaining that it only allows for the series to grow.

"This is a TV show, not a movie, so the story needs to be expanded instead of whittled down," the author wrote on Facebook. "Cleat Cute was specifically the story of Grace and Phoebe falling in love, and Playing the Field is an ensemble comedy."

And we already know how the show plans to expand beyond the book's horizon. As its logline teases, the on-screen version will focus on several players and their love lives. While it's way too early to say how long Playing the Field will run, it certainly seems ripe for a different focus each season à la Off Campus.

Who has been cast in the 'Cleat Cute' adaptation 'Playing the Field?'

No casting decisions have been made yet (“I don’t know who will play Grace or Phoebe," Wilsner admitted when the adaptation was announced). However, the writer is certainly interested in who her readers would like to see, asking on social media, "Who do y’all have in mind?"

While nothing is confirmed, several names have already popped up on social media, with fans nominating stars like Liv Hewson (Yellowjackets, Santa Clarita Diet) or Ella Purnell (Fallout, Sweetpea) as Phoebe and Charlotte Austin (Petrichor) or Sophie Thatcher (Yellowjackets) as Grace Henderson.

When you're looking to get lost in a book, sometimes you need your reading material to match your mood. With Marie Claire's series "Buy the Book," we do the heavy lifting for you. We're offering curated, highly specific recommendations for whatever you're looking for—whether you're in your feels or hooked on a subgenre trending on #BookTok.

In this author-curated rendition, Jessica Goldstein—pop culture journalist, humorist, and author of Retro—shares the books that inspired her debut novel.

Author and pop culture enthusiast Jessica Goldstein has always been obsessed with understanding why a piece of media, a celebrity, or a social media trend becomes popular at a particular moment. In recent years, she’s been especially fascinated with the proliferation of nostalgia—be it the endless cycle of rebooted IP or political propaganda.

Cue her debut novel, Retro, in which she examined that phenomenon in a genre-defying adventure story about a struggling actress, Ash, who takes a job at a time-travel agency. While sending clients on imaginative vacations in the past—and getting embroiled in a private investigator’s case in the 1930s—Ash also effectively avoids her personal life in the present.

Goldstein tells Marie Claire that writing the novel gave her a fresh perspective on nostalgia. “I’m into it as a way to stay connected to the things that made us who we are, the people we used to be and love, a time when our sense of self was less cluttered by adult obligations and noise,” she says. “But I’m totally anti-nostalgia as narcotic to distract us from participating fully in the present so we can get the future we deserve.”

To craft the novel—that’s as much a mystery and workplace send-up as it is a sci-fi romp—Goldstein was inspired by the through-a-portal-to-another world stories she grew up with: The Wizard of Oz; Alice in Wonderland; The Phantom Tollbooth. “Writing a novel is kind of like holding a magnet to your heart, and everything you care about just gets drawn in like metal filings to the edge,” she says. But she wasn’t rigid about genre to guide her style, often finding that recent bestsellers or neo-noirs were shaping her along the process.

“It really affirmed my belief in reading as widely and deeply as you can and not being rigid about only using your reading time ‘productively’...You just have to trust that your curiosity is taking you someplace worth going.”

Here, Goldstein shares the books that inspired Retro (available now)—spanning childhood classics to detective novels to nonfiction books about the tech industry.

Lovers of the romance genre have been absolutely spoiled in recent months with a steady stream of film and TV adaptations of beloved novels and book series. From Off Campus to Every Year After to the first onscreen version (so far) of an Emily Henry novel, romance readers and watchers alike have been booked and busy. And it’s not stopping: Still to come this year are adaptations of Ali Hazelwood’s The Love Hypothesis and Katherine Center’s The Bodyguard. At the same time, this summer has also heralded the arrival of the second season of Netflix’s Ransom Canyon.

The Netflix show is based on a long-running series of cowboy romance novels by prolific author Jodi Thomas. Each dives into the life and love stories of a broad cast of characters throughout a West Texas ranching community. With the next set of eight episodes arriving on the streaming service on July 23, there’s no time like the present to dive into Thomas’ books—and, just in time, we’ve compiled a guide to help you on your journey through the neo-Western saga.

How do the 'Ransom Canyon' books compare to the Netflix series?

The first season of Netflix’s Ransom Canyon hews fairly close to the first book in Thomas’ book series, with its primary focus on Staten and Quinn. However, it also expands the roles of certain characters, such as Lucas and Yancy, who only briefly appear in the first book before having their stories fleshed out in later installments. Similarly, other characters, like Lauren, debuted in the show right away, while their arcs are introduced much later in the novels.

But beyond season 1, expect the show to veer off in a pretty drastically different direction from Thomas’ novels. Showrunner April Blair has said that the series essentially used the first Ransom Canyon book as a jumping-off point and will continue expanding the primary characters' lives and stories, instead of turning its attention to a new couple each season, as Thomas' books do.

“In Jodi’s series, each novel introduces a whole new cast of characters. It’s almost kind of anthology-like, and some characters reappear from time to time, but it really is like a whole new group of people,” Blair told Deadline when season 1 premiered. “That wasn’t really an achievable thing for us in series. We wanted to stick with one cast, so we stuck to the single book as this jumping-off point.”

So—spoilers for the first Ransom Canyon book and season ahead!—while the first novel in Thomas’ series ends with Staten and Quinn deciding to be together and preparing to welcome a baby, the TV show is stretching out their relationship into a will-they, won’t-they. After Quinn heads off to New York at the end of the first season, she returns to Texas in season 2 to figure out where she’s meant to be. She even has a new love interest (Ben Robson’s Oliver), making things even more complicated between her and Staten.

Everything to Know About the Main 'Ransom Canyon' Series

Book 1 — 'Ransom Canyon'

Thomas’ initial entry in the series arrived in 2015 and primarily follows an older Staten who’s haunted by memories and often turns to the artsy, reclusive Quinn O’Grady for comfort. In the Netflix series, this core couple is played by Josh Duhamel and Minka Kelly. The book also charts the coming-of-age story of the ambitious Lucas (Garrett Wareing in the show) and the potential start of a new life for petty criminal Yancy (played by Jack Schumacher).

Book 2 — 'Rustler’s Moon'

The main romance in Book 2 centers on Angela Harrell, a woman who ends up in Ransom Canyon while on the run from her past life, and Wilkes Wagner, who has also recently landed back in town to take over his family ranch. The novel also picks back up with Lucas, who’s keeping his high school sweetheart Lauren (portrayed by Lizzy Greene) in a frustrating situationship instead of committing to the full-fledged relationship he’s long promised.

Book 3 — 'Lone Heart Pass'

Lone Heart Pass introduces yet another ranch in Ransom Canyon: The rundown Lone Heart farm, which Jubilee Hamilton inherits. Still reeling from a career crash-out and a breakup to boot, Jubilee soon finds sparks flying with the gruff new foreman she’s hired, Charley Collins. They’re also joined on the farm by Thatcher Jones, who needs a safe place to land while tangled up in a murder investigation.

Book 4 — 'Sunrise Crossing'

Yancy’s back in Book 4, focusing on getting his life together and rebuilding his old house in Crossroads, Texas. There, he crosses paths with an artist, Tori, who’s hiding out from her controlling parents. Intertwined in their love story is that of Parker, Tori’s gallery manager, who hitches a ride with strong, silent cowboy Gabe to come to the artist’s aid.

Book 5 — 'Wild Horse Springs'

Thomas’ fifth book in the main Ransom Canyon series also circles back to some OG characters, as Lauren returns to her hometown and finds herself right back in the orbit of her first love, Lucas. Elsewhere, her dad Dan (played by Philip Winchester in the Netflix series) just might decide it’s time to spice up his steady life with the help of free-spirited singer Brandi.

Book 6 — 'Indigo Lake'

We’re back at the Lone Heart farm, now inherited by Blade Hamilton, who rides into his ancestors’ dusty Texas town on a motorcycle. He finds a star-crossed lover in Dakota, who can’t seem to resist Blade’s charms, despite the longstanding feud between their families. Meanwhile, Lauren is struggling to figure out where she really belongs: pursuing a big-city life or getting back to her comfortable roots in the canyon.

Book 7 — 'Mistletoe Miracles'

The penultimate novel in the main Ransom Canyon series centers on three separate people, each of whom ends up with a Christmas miracle on their hands. There’s Griffin Holloway, who’s decided the best way to save his family’s Maverick Ranch is by marrying a wealthy bride by the end of the year; Jaxon O’Grady, who learns from an unexpected visitor that maybe he actually isn’t as content in his solitude as he thought; and Jamie Johnson, who discovers a mysterious man sleeping on her couch—and claiming to be her husband.

Book 8 — 'Christmas in Winter Valley'

The eighth and final book in Thomas’ core series is another wintry tale and centers on two more of the Holloway men. Cooper, trying to avoid family Christmastime chaos, retreats to the remote Winter Valley, only to be visited by two strangers who each deeply impact his life. Elliott stays put at Maverick Ranch, where he’s juggling farm finances, an overbearing family, and the re-emergence of a past love.

Are there any 'Ransom Canyon' prequel novels?

You could start your Ransom Canyon reading journey by diving into the prequels, which Thomas published in 2015 and 2025—or you could read them later on after you've been introduced to some of the characters, considering these feature more of their and the town's origin story.

The first prequel, Winter’s Camp, is set in the frontier era and explains how the Ransom Canyon community came to be by following a young James Randall Kirkland on his journey west, where he comes across a beautiful Apache woman named Millie and is quickly smitten.

Silverleaf Rapids, Thomas’ latest addition to the series, picks up several generations later and further sets up the stories to come. A young Staten Kirkland leaves college early to take over his family’s Double K Ranch in the wake of his grandfather J.R.’s illness, forcing him to grow up quickly and shoulder quite a bit of responsibility. Meanwhile, two other couples you’ll soon come to know and love—Peggy and Duke, and Charlotte and Wade—are also finding each other in the small Texas town.

Are there any other books in the 'Ransom Canyon' series?

Thompson simply can’t get enough of Ransom Canyon Christmastime tales: In 2017, between Indigo Lake and Mistletoe Miracles, she published A Christmas Affair, a novella telling the very sweet love story of Maria, a hopeless romantic who makes jams and jellies to be sold at the local grocery store, and Wes, the store’s shy owner.

Otherwise, Thompson hasn’t said anything about publishing any other Ransom Canyon books. But while we continue to hold out hope for still more installments, there are plenty more series and standalone romance books from the author to dive into, most of which are also set in Texas and span both contemporary and historical love stories.

The YA genre tends to dominate lists of buzzy book-to-TV adaptations, but now and then, viewers crave a more mature adult romance. Thankfully, Peacock has already snapped up one of #BookTok's most beloved, complex love stories to bring it to screens.

Since 2022, author Kennedy Ryan has enthralled readers with emotional, breathtaking romances that also explore deeper issues like depression, grief, chronic illness, financial hardship, and caring for an aging parent. Now, several of these love stories may be headed to our TVs; in April 2026, Universal Studio Group announced a "first-look" deal with Ryan in which she can develop not only projects based on her own books, but also new original stories and adaptations from other authors. First up: a series based on her breakout novel Before I Let Go, which is in development at Peacock.

"Kennedy’s stories are deeply resonant and culturally impactful, and we are excited to collaborate on adaptations that honor her vision while connecting with audiences in bold, meaningful ways. Not only is she a celebrated and powerful voice in the literary space, but she leads with thoughtfulness and creativity. We can’t wait to work with her to bring these new and existing stories to life," Jordan Moblo, USG’s executive VP of creative acquisitions and IP management, said in a statement.

Though it's still early days for Ryan's journey from page to screen, we've already begun keeping an eye out for any news on the adaptation of her most-loved novel. Read on for everything we know about the Before I Let Go TV series adaptation so far.

What is 'Before I Let Go' by Kennedy Ryan about?

Before I Let Go, the first book in Kennedy Ryan's Skyland series, is a "scorching emotional second chance romance" about ex-spouses who can't help but be drawn back to each other.

Yasmen and Josiah Wade built a life together that includes two children and a successful restaurant in the Atlanta neighborhood Skyland. But following a pair of unthinkable tragedies, their marriage falls apart. Before I Let Go picks up two years after their divorce, which they spent learning to co-parent and run their business together amid the new normal.

After dealing with so much change, both Yasmen and Josiah are ready to date again. But as the spark between them reemerges—and spurs some spicy stolen moments—they begin to wonder whether they're really ready to let go of forever.

As Ryan has explained, "this is a love story for realists." "[This] may sound funny coming from a romance writer, but the romance I write leans into the realities of life and really makes no attempt to escape them," the writer has said. "These two people, who loved each other so very much, had a lot to work through on their own. I’m not saying they or anyone else has to divorce to do that, but for this story and the decisions this couple made, time apart reformed them into people who could be happy and healthy together."

Who is involved behind-the-scenes of Peacock's 'Before I Let Go' series adaptation?

It's official: Before I Let Go is moving forward at Peacock! The adaptation received a series order at Peacock in September 2026, with Attica Locke and Tembi Locke signing on as writers, executive producers, and showrunners. The sister duo are best known for creating the Netflix romance From Scratch, which was based on Tembi's bestselling memoir.

It was previously reported that Ryan had teamed up with Malcolm D. Lee, the writer and director behind the classic Black rom-com franchise The Best Man, to write the series. Ryan and Lee are staying on as creators and executive producers, and have also co-written the pilot episode. Lee, who has helmed comedy films like Roll Bounce and Girls Trip, will also direct on the series.

Joining the Lockes, Ryan, Lee are executive producers Dominique Telson, Mike Jackson, John Legend and Debra Martin Chase.

There will likely be more announcements for additional names joining the series as the show heads towards filming.

What has Kennedy Ryan said about Peacock's 'Before I Let Go' series adaptation?

Ryan has been keeping fans updated on Before I Let Go's journey to the screen so far. On the day her first-look deal was announced, Ryan shared a comprehensive update on the adaptation.

"Getting the chance to co-write the Before I Let Go pilot with Malcolm D. Lee is such an honor and an incredible experience," she wrote. "We are working hard to bring you the show you deserve! We’ve been plotting and cooking for a while. This opportunity has given me not only a great collaborator, but a friend! We’ll share more when the time is right."

She returned to break the news of the series order to fans, making it clear to those unfamiliar with Hollywood's machinations that "this book is now being made into a TV show for sure!"

She added in a statement, "Getting the chance to bring the Skyland series to life onscreen is a dream come true. I’m excited about what this remarkable team is creating. Co-writing the pilot with Malcolm D. Lee and now imagining this world with Attica and Tembi is more than I even knew to ask for. These characters have meant so much to so many readers, and none of this would be possible without the people who have supported my work for years. I’m incredibly grateful and excited to find a new audience for these books that have changed my life."

When will the 'Before I Let Go' TV adaptation be released?

There is no release date for Before I Let Go. It's still early days for the adaptation and casting hasn't begun, so it's likely that the series might not hit our screens until 2028 at the earliest.

However, Peacock has released the show's official logline:

"Their love was supposed to last forever, but when life dealt Yasmen and Josiah Wade back-to-back devastating blows, they realized love can’t solve everything. The life they created fell apart — divorce and shared custody followed. Now, Yasmen is finally starting to find joy, but proximity to Josiah keeps the embers hot despite reopening old wounds. They are beginning to wonder if they’re truly ready to let go of everything they once had. Is it too late to find forever? Or could the second time around be even better?"

Who has been cast in the 'Before I Let Go' series adaptation?

With Before I Let Go still in early development, no one has been cast in the series yet. Of course, that hasn't stopped devout readers from throwing their fan casts into the ring. Names that have been thrown out include Trevonte Rhodes, Aldis Hodge, McKinley Freeman, Jay Ellis, Jayme Lawson, Yaya DaCosta, and Teyonah Parris, among others. Start manifesting your dream Yasmen and Josiah now!

Netflix's Little House on the Prairie revives Laura Ingalls Wilder's classic novels—and the hit 1970s drama—for a new generation. Created by Rebecca Sonnenshine, the new adaptation follows the Ingalls family as they set out to start a new life on the American frontier during the 1860s and 1870s. By the end of the delightful eight-episode season, released on July 19, Laura, her Pa Charles, her Ma Caroline, and her older sister Mary settle in Independence, Kansas, and make new friends—until a shocking revelation prompts the family to seek out a new home.