#151. "The Ballad of Songbird and Snakes" by Suzanne Collins

On the surface, readers wouldn't think that there's a lot of space to expand on the world of Panem. After a trilogy of books, how could anyone make The Hunger Games exciting and new, especially without beloved protagonist Katniss centering the book? In a clever sidestep, Suzanne Collins has decided to do what anyone else would do in popular franchise culture: make a prequel. This one centers around antagonist Snow as a young man experiencing the bloodbath ritual for the first time. One has to ask how an unsympathetic lead makes a difference in this world and whether audiences would be willing to go along with it, but Collins knows what she's doing. 

For as much as this is a world that doesn't necessarily encourage expansion, the additions provide a cleverness and depth that push the story into a complicated dilemma. By attempting to push beyond the nefarious behavior readers know, Collins successfully creates a sympathetic story that finds Snow able to be seen as likable, even understandable in his poor decisions. It's the type of chess game perfect for the battlefield. Every move is about survival and while Snow maybe had more advantages than half the characters in "The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes," he's left with questions of keeping his soul and integrity alive. The reader knows how things evolve. Knowing how it starts brings to light the preventable in ways that make the larger series more tragic and preventable. While it's part of a familiar tradition of prequel world building, it's enough to please fans of Hunger Games as a larger universe.

#150. "Here I Am" by Jonathan Safran Foer

As Leo Tolstoy would say, every dysfunctional family is different in their own way. In the case of Jonathan Safran Foer's "Here I Am," he explores one in the middle of a variety of struggles. As a son is set to have a Bar Mitzvah, a Jewish couple is dealing with their own martial problems that come with a painful vulnerability. Everyone is at odds with each other, and there isn't any clear answer to be found. Foer's attention to detail allows for a clever spin on familiar domestic struggles, using the Jewish identity to convey the confusion of life and the quest for meaning amid ever-changing circumstances. The final journey is an entertaining and provocative journey that finds the author delivering another masterful slice-of-life character piece that may be a bit more muted but comes with its own amusement.

#149. "Pageboy" by Elliot Page

To a certain extent, memoirs are often boring. Unless the celebrity has a tell-all packed full of salacious encounters, it's often best left to the fans. In the case of Elliot Page's highly touted "Pageboy," it's a much different story. As a trans man who grew up being seen as the "it girl" of indie cinema, the struggle to be seen and accepted for himself was a journey that took him well into adulthood. That pathways to eventual acceptance weren't without some emotional turmoil and regret, and "Pageboy" delivers one of the most vulnerable and engrossing discussions of transmasculine identity that has hit the mainstream. Even in stories of more mundane familial conflicts, Page does an excellent job of painting the struggle to be yourself. This isn't everyone's story. It's just Page's. That may not seem like much, but it hopefully inspires readers to find their own journeys and not feel less alone in whatever they're struggling to achieve.

#148. "1Q84" by Haruki Murakami

Fantasy is a complicated genre to get right. While there's a built-in audience who are more likely to enjoy the unique world-building, reaching those who may be a bit allergic to the weirdness is a sizable challenge. With that said, the beguiling nature of Haruki Murakami has made him one of the most renowned writers of his generation. As he's produced several books with provocative texts and characters that lead readers to think differently about their own lives, it's easy to think that "1Q84" would be on another level. It is among his longest works and most complicated as well. However, there's as much of a chance for this to become self-indulgent and monotonous as it is to provide incredible answers about how everyone engages with reality. If judged for that, it's a phenomenal text about loneliness. However, it's also one of the most misguided portrayals of women in fantasy possible, leading to a complete mess of a book that may do more damage to beginner reader's familiarity with Murakami than help.

#147. "Something I've Been Meaning to Tell You" by Alice Munro

In the opening story of Alice Munro's prize-winning anthology, she finds the relationship between two sisters coming to a head in the most sinister way imaginable. After decades of conflict, the reader is thrust into a final paragraph that recontextualizes everything that came before. Suddenly it requires backtracking to better understand what the first-person narrative was saying. Was it reliable at all, or have we been exposed to one of the pettiest, most jealous characters to grace the page? The answer is only haunting once discovers where everything is built from, showing how difficult her interiority ultimately was. It not only encourages detective work through the indirectness, but it also sets up the stories to come in unfathomable ways. 

Ultimately what makes Munro one of the great short story writers is her ability to create complicated women. Even when they're speaking directly to the reader, there is something that feels hidden. It's not always evident, but it's there. She is also a master of recontextualizing what time means. Sometimes it's the fear of growing old, but often it's about the pain of a faithful memory as a new generation asks the elders to recall their past. Everything is warped to some extent, creating a provocative view of hindsight that perfectly shows what a woman's life ultimately amounts to. It's not always triumphant or even evident, but each of these characters deserves some accolade for surviving in an American landscape, especially when opposite questionable men. As the title suggests, these are things that feel like afterthoughts, but very important ones at that.

#146. "Heartstopper: Vol. 2" by Alice Oseman

When readers last left the cast of "Heartstopper," they were faced with a familiar romantic comedy plot. It's the tenderness of a will they/won't they scenario that is built into a kiss. The pages that followed were so jubilant and full of life, that finding Alice Oseman's animation became a dazzling exploration of bliss. Rarely has an artist been so capable of sensitively capturing the joys of that first love, creating a sense of uncertainty about what's to come. After all, "Vol. 1" suggests a need for "Vol. 2," and a romance that won't exactly end with this cliche moment. Where does life take our characters now that they've gotten over those pre-dating jitters and now know how they feel for each other? The answer is, thankfully, much more complicated and fulfilling as it not only expands their stories but also a supporting cast full of excitable personalities.

#145. "Peyton Place" by Grace Metalious

In theory, it doesn't take a lot to make a truly shocking work of art. All that one has to do is dig into some moral decay and comment on the grossest parts of humanity. However, there is one lightning rod that has existed over all of pop culture for over half a century now. When Grace Metalious unleashed "Peyton Place" on the world, nobody could expect the legacy it produced while portraying an innocent New England town coming to terms with unpredictable turmoil. There are so many issues that have since been covered in exhaustive detail by true crime nerds, but what makes Metalious' text so essential is how it manages to transcend the soap opera tendencies and discover something painfully recognizable. The novel is as taboo as they come, but not in the empty calories way of a salacious accusation. Instead, it's a perfect embodiment of reality, breaking apart the suburban utopia of the time and suggesting not that things are getting scary, but that they've always been.