 When the Wolf Comes Home by Nat Cassidy is one of those stories that sneaks up behind you, taps you on the shoulder, and then proceeds to tear open your ribcage, not just for the horror, but for the feelings hiding underneath it.
It starts with Jess, a down-on-her-luck actress working nights at a diner, who finds a terrified little boy outside her apartment. Then his father shows up. Then a monstrous, snarling something follows them, then before you can even take a breath, you’re neck-deep in blood, grief, and metaphor. Cassidy writes like he’s exorcising trauma of his own. The book has that raw, desperate energy where you can tell the author is saying something real under all the gore. I mean, yeah. It's a horror novel. There are claws, there’s a wolf-thing, there are moments you’ll physically cringe, but it’s also about broken people trying to do the right thing when they don’t even know what that is anymore. Jess isn’t a perfect protagonist by a long shot. She makes choices that make you want to scream at the page. But she feels real. Exhausted. Angry. Trying to hold it together while the universe kicks her. And that’s what makes the whole thing even better. The monsters are terrifying, sure, but the human parts hurt more. There’s a stretch in the middle that feels like running downhill too fast, you’re not sure if you’re still in control, but you can’t stop. By the end, I was overcome with with dread and weird compassion for everyone involved. It’s bloody, it’s tender, it’s messed up. And I loved it. If you like horror that feels personal and uncomfortably human, if you want to be wrecked a little, When the Wolf Comes Home delivers. Maybe don’t read it right before bed unless you want to dream in teeth and regret. 5 out of 5 existential howls. Check out the book at the library or download the eBook with your SPL card. Aimee Clark, IT Librarian
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 Author Paula McLain is a master at writing historical fiction. In her new novel, Skylark, McLain takes us back to Paris (The Paris Wife, 2011) where she weaves two different time periods (300 years apart) into stories of resistance and survival. The tunnels under Paris become a major force in both timelines in Skylark.
In 1664, Alouette Voland and her father worked as dyers at the Gobelin Tapestry Works. Alouette longs to not only create new colors, but to become recognized for these creations. In the eyes of Parisian men, women, and their feeble minds, could never be artistic creators and to formulate new colors without the approval of the "Administration" is criminal. Alouette’s father is jailed and Alouette is sent to Salpetriere Asylum where thousands of women are sent unjustly just for speaking their mind. The second story begins in 1939 and into 1940s German occupied Paris. A young psychiatrist, Dr. Kristof Larsen, befriends his Jewish neighbors and helps a handful of Jewish teens escape through the tunnels. The two time periods are intertwined throughout the novel and McLain does a great job at building suspense and peril. Although both characters have the same resolve to not only survive, but to help others along the way, I did not feel a clear connective thread between the two stories. I waited for a message in the tunnels or something else that ties them together, but I got nothing. The two stories, though at times slow, were both enjoyable. I give it 4 out of 5 stars. I recommend this book to any fans of Paula McLain or historical fiction. Skylark comes out in January 2026 for all to enjoy. Thank you Atria for providing this book for review consideration via NetGalley. All opinions are my own. Robin Munson, Adult Programming & Grant Specialist Librarian  Grady Hendrix is one of those writers who can have you laughing out loud one minute and then staring at the ceiling wondering why your eyes are leaking the next. How to Sell a Haunted House nails that weird, wonderful balance. On the surface, it’s a story about a brother and sister stuck cleaning up their parents’ house after a loss, except the house is crammed with creepy puppets and dolls that may or may not be alive. Sounds ridiculous, right? And it is. Hendrix leans all the way into the absurd, and you’ll find yourself laughing at how over-the-top some of it gets.
But then, right when you’re laughing, he sucker-punches you with something hard: grief, regret, the way siblings wound each other and carry those scars into adulthood. The haunted house is really just a stand-in for all the baggage that gets passed down in families, the secrets, the grudges, the unspoken hurt. It’s generational trauma wrapped up in a horror-comedy package, which makes it hit that much harder. I think that’s what makes Hendrix so good. You go in for the campy horror, some killer puppets, spooky house vibes, but you leave with your heart a little bruised. This book is hilarious, creepy, and surprisingly moving all at once. Check out the book at the library or download the eBook or audiobook with your SPL card. Aimee Clark, IT Librarian  We Used to Live Here by Marcus Kliewer completely caught me off guard. On the surface, it starts with a young couple showing their house to potential buyers, but then a family shows up at the door claiming they used to live there. From that simple setup, things spiral into something much stranger, darker, and more unsettling than I ever expected. I had no idea which direction it was going to go, and that unpredictability made it a delight to read.
I’m nearly impossible to scare, but this one actually managed it. I read parts late at night, in the dark, after everyone had gone to bed. Normally that doesn’t faze me at all, but here I found myself pausing, uneasy, and hyper-aware of the pitch-black silence around me. It truly got under my skin and that’s rare. If you want something twisty, eerie, and impossible to pin down, We Used to Live Here is well worth the read. Get the book at the library or download the eBook or audiobook with your SPL card. Aimee Clark, IT Librarian  If you’ve seen The Revenant movie, the one where Leonardo DiCaprio finally grabbed his Oscar, you probably think you know the story of Hugh Glass. Bear attack, crawling across the wilderness, icy revenge quest. And yeah, the movie was brutal and gorgeous, but the book? The book is better.
Michael Punke’s The Revenant doesn’t need to make up a tragic backstory with a wife and child (that part was pure Hollywood). What Glass actually went through was already unbelievable. Punke lays out the sheer insanity of his survival, crawling for weeks with shattered bones, fighting infection, dealing with betrayal, and still somehow dragging himself forward. And that’s not even the half of it. The novel includes details and feats the movie just skipped over, probably because audiences would’ve thought they were too over the top to be real. Before this all happened, he was even a pirate on a ship!! The film gave us a spectacle. The book gives us the full man versus nature, man versus man, and man versus his own breaking point story. If you liked the movie, read the book. If you didn’t like the movie, still read the book. It’s that good. Get the book at the library or the eBook and audiobook are available for download with your library card. Aimee Clark, IT Librarian  Jonathan Katz’s Cleave the Sparrow is one of those books where you set it down and immediately think, what the hell did I just read, and why do I kind of love it? It’s satire cranked to eleven, absurdist comedy welded to existential dread, and politics skewered with the subtlety of a chainsaw. Imagine Vonnegut, Catch-22, and Dr. Strangelove all locked in a room together, fed nothing but espresso, bad cable news, and episodes of Rick and Morty, then told to write a novel before sunrise. That’s the vibe.
The story itself? I read the book and still don't know, and I'm pretty sure that was the point. Katz doesn’t give you a neat arc to follow, he throws you into a warped dystopia where media, politics, and human nature all get flayed open and roasted over the fire. It’s messy, chaotic, and deliberately overstuffed with ideas, but buried in all that noise are razor-sharp one-liners and these moments of clarity where you feel like the book just sucker-punched you with some hard truth about the absurdity of being alive. Is it for everyone? Absolutely not. If you need your fiction tidy, logical, and polite, this book will drive you up the wall. But if you’re willing to lean into the chaos, there’s something strangely exhilarating here. You’ll laugh, you’ll grimace, you’ll occasionally wonder if you’re losing your grip on reality. I know it's had mixed reviews. Certain portrayals feel insensitive, some sections read like a rant that went on too long. But honestly, even the flaws add to the manic energy of it all. It’s not neat. It’s not safe. It’s not “literary fiction” in the respectable sense. It’s more like being trapped in a late-night conversation with someone brilliant, unhinged, and just drunk enough to let something slip. Bottom line? Cleave the Sparrow isn’t a book you read for comfort. It’s a book you read to get shaken up, to laugh at the absurdity of the world, and maybe to feel a little less alone in the chaos. You’ll either bail after twelve pages or carry it with you like a strange fever dream you can’t stop thinking about. Check out the book at the library. Aimee Clark, IT Librarian  This was an excellent introduction to Spooky Season! I read Strange Practice in 2 days, and could NOT stop thinking about it.
What happens when the Van Helsings' ancestors decide to doctor the undead instead of destroy them? Greta Helsing is what! She's such a wonderful POV character, and very relatable. Vivian Shaw does an excellent job of starting off making Greta seem harsh and unyielding, like the Van Helsing we all know, but as the story progresses you can REALLY tell how much she cares about her vocation. The side characters are poignant and interesting, and the magic/science of it all is fascinating. I enjoyed this magic system, and I loved having a heroine who, quite literally, fixes things with her intellect instead of a special power. Mariah Wills, Library Clerk Get Strange Practice at the library or download the audiobook with your SPL card.  We Need to Talk About Kevin is one of those books that sticks to your ribs in the worst possible way. It’s not just a story about a kid who grows up to do something horrific, it’s about parenting, blame, and that uncomfortable question: what if you just don’t like your own child?
The whole thing is told through letters from Eva, Kevin’s mom, to her estranged husband. She’s brutally honest about how motherhood never felt natural to her. She didn’t want to give up her career, she didn’t feel that rush of unconditional love everyone talks about, and from the very beginning Kevin seemed… off. Cold, manipulative, like he was always two steps ahead of everyone else. And that’s where the book gets under your skin. Did Kevin turn out the way he did because Eva never bonded with him? Or was he born this way and nothing could have changed it? Shriver never gives you an easy answer, and that’s what makes the story so unsettling. The writing is sharp and unsparing. You go into the book already knowing Kevin is going to commit a massacre, so the whole time you’re reading with this sense of dread. But the scariest parts aren’t the violence. They’re the little family moments where Kevin seems to know exactly how to twist the knife in his mom, and she can’t get anyone else to see it. It’s not a light read, and honestly it’s not one I’d hand to just anyone. But if you want a book that will mess with you and leave you thinking long after you finish, this one delivers. The movie with Tilda Swinton and John C. Reilly is good, but the book? Way darker, way smarter, and way harder to shake off. Download the eBook or audiobook with your SPL card. If you prefer a physical copy, ask about interlibrary loan. Aimee Clark, IT Librarian  Amy Tintera’s Listen for the Lie is one of those books that feels like it was designed to mess with your head, in the best way. Picture this: Lucy flees her small Texas town years ago after her best friend is murdered. Everyone thinks Lucy did it, but the catch is... Lucy doesn’t actually remember the night in question. Blackout, blood, no memory. Not exactly reassuring, right?
Fast forward, and now a popular true-crime podcaster drags Lucy back home to “set the record straight.” The book jumps between Lucy’s very sarcastic, sharp inner voice and the podcast transcripts that read just like the shows we all binge when we should be sleeping. That format makes it ridiculously addictive, you’ll keep telling yourself “just one more chapter” until suddenly it’s 2 a.m. The best part? Lucy herself. She’s messy, she’s funny, she’s self-deprecating, and you’re never totally sure if she’s guilty or not. The whole time, you’re caught between “there’s no way she did it” and “oh God, maybe she did.” Add in a small town where everyone holds a grudge, and the gossip feels like another character in the book. This isn’t just a whodunit, it’s more like, who do you trust? Who’s lying, who’s remembering wrong, and who’s twisting the story to suit themselves? If you like thrillers with unreliable narrators, podcast vibes, and a little bit of dark humor, Listen for the Lie will absolutely hook you. Check out the book, or download the eBook or audiobook with your SPL card. Aimee Clark, IT Librarian  Okay, so let me just say it: this book destroyed me. Like, ugly crying, tissues everywhere, the whole thing. Human Acts is not the kind of book you breeze through on a lazy Sunday, it’s the kind of book that grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go.
Han Kang, who, by the way, won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2024 (well deserved) takes us straight into the Gwangju Uprising of 1980 in South Korea. If you’ve never heard of it, you’re not alone. Most Americans know nothing about it, which makes this book even more of a gut punch. She’s basically saying, “Look. Remember this. Don’t turn away.” And you can’t. The book is broken into different voices, people who lived it, suffered it, survived it, or didn’t. Every chapter feels like peeling back another layer of grief. Sometimes the writing is so sharp and raw that I had to stop, stare at the wall for a while, and then talk myself into picking it back up. It’s not easy. It’s not comforting. But man, it’s powerful. Han Kang builds this sort of memorial out of words, and reading it feels like standing in front of a monument where silence and tears are the only possible response. So yeah, this book devastated me. It broke me apart and left me different than when I started it. But isn’t that what great literature is supposed to do? Get the book at the library or download the eBook with your SPL card. Aimee Clark, IT Librarian  Reading My Dark Vanessa was an extremely difficult and unsettling read. Russell doesn’t just tell a story; she dissects the decay beneath the surface of a power imbalance, carving into the marrow of consent, memory, and grooming until you’re left raw and unsettled.
Vanessa, the protagonist, is both victim and unreliable narrator of her own life. She’s fifteen when her teacher, Strane, begins his predatory “romance,” but the brilliance of the novel lies in how Russell captures the long echo of that abuse. The way Vanessa clings to the idea of being “special” even as her adult self unravels under the weight of truth. You want to shake her, you want to protect her, and sometimes you even want to believe her rationalizations, which is the exact trap Russell sets: she forces us to experience the seduction and the horror side by side. I had to put this down a few times. The book holds a mirror to the way society excuses powerful men and shames girls for their own exploitation. It makes you complicit in Vanessa’s struggle, and that’s the point. It’s supposed to be uncomfortable. The language is sharp, the atmosphere suffocating, and the emotional honesty is almost unbearable at times. At the end, you don’t walk away with neat answers or triumphant catharsis. Instead, you’re left with jagged edges, anger at Strane, grief for Vanessa, and maybe a gnawing reflection on the blind spots in your own perception of abuse. Dark, devastating, and unforgettable, My Dark Vanessa is less a novel than an autopsy of trauma, and reading it feels like opening wounds you didn’t know you had. It's a great book, but it's very upsetting. This book is available for download as an eBook or audiobook. Ask us for interlibrary loan if you prefer a physical copy. Aimee Clark, IT Librarian  Stephen King’s Fairy Tale isn’t just another “kid discovers magical portal” story. It’s really a story about a boy and his dog. More specifically: what lengths would you go to if the dog you loved most in the world was slipping away from you?
Charlie Reade is just a regular teenager dealing with more grief than most adults. After the tragic death of his mother, his father sank into alcoholism. Charlie and his father are setting their lives back on the right path when he stumbles into an old man’s life, then inherits his ancient house, his secrets, and most importantly, his elderly German shepherd, Radar. And if you’ve ever loved an old dog, the kind who looks at you with cloudy eyes with a softness like you hung the moon, you’ll understand why this book hurts in all the right places. Radar is failing, her legs going out, time running short. Charlie can’t accept that. And that’s where the fairy tale kicks in. There’s a way to save her. But, of course, it involves descending into a hidden kingdom where magic is tangled up with decay, curses, and tyrants who seem ripped out of the Brothers Grimm after a couple decades in prison. Charlie, who should be worried about school and baseball, instead walks willingly into horror because the alternative, losing Radar, is worse. That’s the thread King pulls on, and honestly, it’s brutal. If you’ve ever carried an old dog up the stairs or made the terrible vet appointment, you’ll feel every ounce of Charlie’s desperation. The fantasy kingdom, the monsters, the battle between good and evil—they’re all window dressing for the bigger, simpler story: love is irrational, loyalty makes us reckless, and sometimes the scariest thing in the world is watching your best friend fade away. Yes, it's long Some villains feel more like fairy tale sketches than flesh-and-blood monsters. But the book’s heart: the boy, the dog, and the impossible choice makes it worth the sprawl. By the end, you’ll ask yourself the same question King forces on Charlie: what would I risk, what kingdom of nightmares would I march into just for more time with my dog? Check out the book at the library. We have it in Large Print, too! You can also download the eBook or audiobook with your library card. Aimee Clark, IT Librarian  This book unsettled me in the best way. It’s set in small-town Minnesota and immediately took me back to my own childhood. I grew up in the shadow of Jacob Wetterling and Jonny Gosch disappearing. Adults were constantly warning us we were gonna get kidnapped, but at the same time they basically let us roam wild like little feral animals until dark. That mix of freedom and fear is all over this book.
Lourey captures it perfectly through Cassie’s eyes, the secrets, the predators everyone pretended not to see, the unease simmering under small-town life. Reading it felt way too familiar, like someone cracked open the childhood I remember but didn’t want to think too hard about. Creepy, raw, and unforgettable. Check out the book at the library. Aimee Clark, Library IT  Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar is one of those books that’s going to either knock the wind out of you in the best way or leave you muttering “what just happened?” under your breath. It’s Akbar’s first novel, though you can tell immediately he’s a poet. Every sentence is so vivid, sometimes you have to stop and reread just to absorb it all.
The main character, Cyrus Shams, is this queer, Iranian-American recovering addict whose life is one big, messy search for meaning. His mom died in a plane crash when he was a baby, and he’s been carrying that baggage around ever since. The book is about grief, but also about art, love, faith, and what it even means to be a “martyr” when you’re not necessarily in a religious war, but trying to make it through another day without falling apart. The structure is… all over the place, in a good way if you like that sort of thing. You get dream sequences, diary entries, snippets of poetry, and even weird conversations with Lisa Simpson and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s raw and devastating, sometimes it’s surreal enough that you’re not totally sure if it’s really happening. If you’re cool with a novel that reads like a fever dream written by a poet who’s just a little obsessed with death, Martyr! will probably stick with you long after you finish it. If not, you’ll at least get some beautiful prose out of it. Get the book at the library or download the eBook or audiobook with your SPL card. Aimee Clark, IT Librarian  The Bible Says So: What We Get Right (and Wrong) About Scripture’s Most Controversial Issues by Dan McClellan isn’t just a good read, it’s the kind of book that makes you stop mid-page and think, Wait… how did I not know this before? I loved it. Not in the polite, “yes, that was interesting” way, but in the full-on “this just rewired my brain” kind of way.
McClellan doesn’t simply toss out familiar verses and call it a day, he digs in. He peels back centuries of translation quirks, cultural drift, and straight-up misunderstandings, then lays the text out next to the world it was actually written in. Suddenly, passages you’ve heard a thousand times start sounding different, clearer, sharper, more human. What makes it work is his style. He’s a scholar, sure, but he’s not talking down to you from some academic tower. He’s more like the friend who happens to know way too much about the Bible and can explain it in a way that makes you go, “Ohhh, that makes sense now.” He connects the original language with the culture of the time, and the result is genuinely eye-opening. This book doesn't tell you what to think. It gives you the tools to look deeper and see what’s really there, then decide for yourself. And once you see it, you’ll never read the Bible the same way again. If you are interested in faith, Southwest Asian history, or just seeking meaning buried under layers of time and assumptions, this is a must-read. Get the book at the library, or download the audiobook with your SPL card. Aimee Clark, IT Librarian |
The SPL StaffWe work here at the library, and we’re into all kinds of books! How Do I Get These Books?See our Quickstart Guides page for information on how to use the online catalog and how to get eBooks and audiobooks for your specific device. You can also contact us there if you need more help!
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