The science on climate change has been clear for a very long time now. Yet despite decades of appeals, mass street protests, petition campaigns, and peaceful demonstrations, we are still facing a booming fossil fuel industry, rising seas, rising emission levels, and a rising temperature. With the stakes so high, why haven’t we moved beyond peaceful protest? In this lyrical manifesto, noted climate scholar (and saboteur of SUV tires and coal mines) Andreas Malm makes an impassioned call for the climate movement to escalate its tactics in the face of ecological collapse. We need, he argues, to force fossil fuel extraction to stop—with our actions, with our bodies, and by defusing and destroying its tools. We need, in short, to start blowing up some oil pipelines. Offering a counter-history of how mass popular change has occurred, from the democratic revolutions overthrowing dictators to the movement against apartheid and for women’s suffrage, Malm argues that the strategic acceptance of property destruction and violence has been the only route for revolutionary change. In a braided narrative that moves from the forests of Germany and the streets of London to the deserts of Iraq, Malm offers us an incisive discussion of the politics and ethics of pacifism and violence, democracy and social change, strategy and tactics, and a movement compelled by both the heart and the mind. Here is how we fight in a world on fire.

After a rough tumble and maybe-serious head injury, a disillusioned trans poet falls for a charming corporate lawyer in a love story that grapples with the explosive ghosts of relationships past, romantic and familial, from the Lambda Award-nominated author of Bellies, Nicola Dinan “Fell down the stairs and woke up a trad wife.” Max is thirty, a published poet and grossly overpaid legal counsel for a tech company. With a lifetime of dysphoria and fuccbois rattling around in her head, Max is plagued with a deep dissatisfaction during what should be the best years of her life. After taking a spill down the stairs at a New Year’s Eve party, she decides to make some changes. First things first: a stab at good old-fashioned heteronormativity. Max thinks she’s found the answer in Vincent, a corporate lawyer and hobby baker, whose trad friendship group may as well speak a foreign language, and whose Chinese parents never pictured their son dating a trans woman. This uncharted territory may have rough terrain, but Vincent cares for Max in a way she’d long given up on as a foolish fantasy. Yet Vincent is carrying his own baggage from his gap year in Thailand a decade prior: an explosive entanglement with a mysterious, gorgeous traveler. Voice-driven, warm, and poignant, Disappoint Me is an exploration of millennial angst, race, trans panic, and the allure of bourgeois domesticity that asks if we are defined by our worst mistakes.

Jennifer Plummer and the Divine Flesh have exactly three things in 1) they're trapped inside Jennifer's body; 2) they despise each other; and 3) they're in love with Daryl Plummer, Jennifer's ex-husband.But when Jennifer takes an experimental wonder drug to free herself from the Divine Flesh's control, it only makes things worse. Expelled from Jennifer's body, the Divine Flesh can now "love" everyone in existence to death, which in this case, means being assimilated forever into the beast.With time running out, it's somehow up to Jennifer and Daryl to save the universe from complete and total destruction. Can a dysfunctional drug mule and an electrician from rural Idaho stop the cosmic abomination before it's too late? Jennifer thinks, maybe.

A transgender teen’s post-op recovery is derailed when he is bitten by a werewolf and his body begins to change. A thought-provoking page-turner that will haunt you for days! Hunter’s life is at a turning point: After years of fighting his father for it, he’s gotten top surgery. He’s finally starting to feel comfortable in his own skin . . . only to be attacked by a strange creature in his backyard. The encounter should kill him, but his best friend Gabe intervenes, and Hunter is able to walk away from the incident with his life—and new body—mostly intact. Still, something isn’t right. First, his wounds are healing quickly—too quickly. Then there are the feverish nightmares, the sudden return of his period, and his teeth . . . they’re falling out of his head. Enter Mars, Hunter’s other best friend. A horror movie devotee, Mars points out the obvious: That mysterious creature was a werewolf, and Hunter is becoming one too—unless they can figure out a cure, which basically means they have to kill the creature that bit him. Now, Hunter, Gabe, and Mars are in a race against time. A voice that could only belong to the creature itself is worming its way into Hunter’s head, and as the days pass, it’s only getting louder. It promises revenge on Hunter’s transphobic peers if he succumbs to his lycanthropic transformation. Or he can reject the monster and fight alongside his friends before the body—and life—he’s fought so hard for slips away for good. The choice is Hunter’s.

Set in what may be the future, and centred on six women sharing a space in some sort of crumbling apartment tower,  Ruins, Child is remarkable for its irresistible sweep, wit, and prickly splintered truth. Giada Scodellaro's novel is like a precious old dropped, looking up at you, flashing light and bits of the undeniable. With the pulsating sway of its liquid mosaic narrative, the novel may recall Virginia Woolf's  The Waves, but is entirely its own kaleidoscopic, pointedly disorienting in its looseness, and powered along by snatches of speech from its compelling ensemble cast, often vernacular, often overheard. It's a book seemingly drawn from deep wells of Black American Scodellaro's female protagonists push back against authority in the very vivacity of their telling, setting afoot a freeing-up and a mysterious inversion of marginalization. A surreal musing,  Ruins, Child uses the lens of urban infrastructure, social commentary, folklore, choreography and collective listening to create an ethnography of place and an ode to communal ruins.

A debut collection of stories set in a hauntingly reimagined Lagos where characters vie for freedom from ancestral ties. ’Pemi Aguda opens her collection of twelve stories with the chilling tale of a woman who uncannily resembles her sinister, deceased grandmother. When the woman shows a capacity for deadly violence, she wonders—can evil be genetic, passed from generation to generation? Set in Lagos, Nigeria, Aguda’s stories unfold against a spectral cityscape where the everyday business of living—the birth of a baby, a market visit, a conversation between mothers and daughters—is charged with an air of supernatural menace. In “Breastmilk” a new mother’s inability to lactate takes on preternatural overtones. In “24, Alhaji Williams Street” a mysterious disease wreaks havoc with frightening precision. In “The Hollow,” an architect stumbles on a vengeful house. Evocative, strange, and yet familiar, “the speculative conceits of these stories are elegantly balanced with the gorgeous fullness of human emotion, all the hunger and longing and fear and delight of being a human in the world” (Lauren Groff).