Amanda Leduc's brilliant new novel, woven with fairy tales of her own devising and replete with both catastrophe and magic, is a vision of what happens when we ignore the natural world and the darker parts of our own natures. Heather is sleeping peacefully after the birth of her twin daughters when the sound of the world ending jolts her awake. Stumbling outside with her babies and her new husband, Brendan, she finds that their city has been destroyed by falling meteors and that her little family are among only a few who survived. But the mountain that looms over the city is still green--somehow it has been spared the destruction that has brought humanity to the brink of extinction. Heather is one of the few who know the mountain, a place city-dwellers have always been forbidden to go. Her dad took her up the mountain when she was a child on a misguided quest to heal her legs, damaged at birth. The tragedy that resulted has shaped her life, bringing her both great sorrow and an undying connection to the deep magic of the mountain, made real by the beings she and her dad encountered that day: Estajfan, a centaur born of sorrow and of an ancient, impossible love, and his two siblings, marooned between the magical and the human world. Even as those in the city around her--led by Tasha, a charismatic doctor who fled to the city from the coast with her wife and other refugees--struggle to keep everyone alive, Heather constantly looks to the mountain, drawn by love, by fear, by the desire for rescue. She is torn in two by her awareness of what unleashed the meteor shower and what is coming for the few survivors, once the green and living earth makes a final reckoning of the usefulness of human life and finds it wanting. At times devastating, but ultimately redemptive, Amanda Leduc's fable for our uncertain times reminds us that the most important things in life aren't things at all, but rather the people we want by our side at the end of the world.

WINNER OF THE NATIONAL BOOK AWARD AND THE PRIX DU MEILLEUR LIVRE ÉTRANGER The Centaur is a modern retelling of the legend of Chiron, the noblest and wisest of the centaurs, who, painfully wounded yet unable to die, gave up his immortality on behalf of Prometheus. In the retelling, Olympus becomes small-town Olinger High School; Chiron is George Caldwell, a science teacher there; and Prometheus is Caldwell’s fifteen-year-old son, Peter. Brilliantly conflating the author’s remembered past with tales from Greek mythology, John Updike translates Chiron’s agonized search for relief into the incidents and accidents of three winter days spent in rural Pennsylvania in 1947. The result, said the judges of the National Book Award, is “a courageous and brilliant account of a conflict in gifts between an inarticulate American father and his highly articulate son.”

A CBC BOOKS BEST NONFICTION OF 2020 AN ENTROPY MAGAZINE BEST NONFICTION 2020/21 A NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY BOOK OF THE DAY (07/23/2022) Fairy tales shape how we see the world, so what happens when you identify more with the Beast than Beauty? If every disabled character is mocked and mistreated, how does the Beast ever imagine a happily-ever-after? Amanda Leduc looks at fairy tales from the Brothers Grimm to Disney, showing us how they influence our expectations and behaviour and linking the quest for disability rights to new kinds of stories that celebrate difference. "Historically we have associated the disabled body image and disabled life with an unhappy ending” – Sue Carter, Toronto Star "Leduc persuasively illustrates the power of stories to affect reality in this painstakingly researched and provocative study that invites us to consider our favorite folktales from another angle." – Sara Shreve, Library Journal "She [Leduc] argues that template is how society continues to treat the disabled: rather than making the world accessible for everyone, the disabled are often asked to adapt to inaccessible environments." – Ryan Porter, Quill & Quire "Read this smart, tenacious book." – The Washington Post "A brilliant young critic named Amanda Leduc explores this pernicious power of language in her new book, Disfigured … Leduc follows the bread crumbs back into her original experience with fairy tales – and then explores their residual effects … Read this smart, tenacious book." – The Washington Post "Leduc investigates the intersection between disability and her beloved fairy tales, questioning the constructs of these stories and where her place is, as a disabled woman, among those narratives." – The Globe and Mail "It gave me goosebumps as I read, to see so many of my unexpressed, half-formed thoughts in print. My highlighter got a good workout." – BookRiot "Disfigured is not just an eye-opener when it comes to the Disney princess crew and the Marvel universe – this thin volume provides the tools to change how readers engage with other kinds of popular media, from horror films to fashion magazines to outdated sitcom jokes." – Quill & Quire “It’s an essential read for anyone who loves fairy tales.” – Buzzfeed Books "Leduc makes one thing clear and beautifully so – fairy tales are fundamentally fantastic, but that doesn’t mean that they are beyond reproach in their depiction of real issues and identities." – Shrapnel Magazine "As Leduc takes us through these fairy tales and the space they occupy in the narratives that we construct, she slowly unfolds a call-to-action: the claiming of space for disability in storytelling." – The Globe and Mail "A provocative beginning to a thoughtful and wide-ranging book, one which explores some of the most primal stories readers have encountered and prompts them to ponder the subtext situated there all along." – LitHub "a poignant and informative account of how the stories we tell shape our collective understanding of one another.” – BookMarks "What happens when we allow disabled writers to tell stories of disability within fairytales and in magical and supernatural settings? It is a reimagining of the fairytale canon we need. Leduc dares to dream of a world that most stories envision is unattainable." – Bitch Media

Alone after her village is destroyed by Leatherwings, young Melora and her father's horse, Sky, survive on their own with a herd of wild horses until she finds a new home with a civilization of centaurs.

The magic of Xanth was useless in Mundania—until Dor tried honesty! Dor was having troubles growing up to be the next Magician-King of the magic Land of Xanth. He wanted no part of running the Kingdom. But now the Good King Trent was leaving on a trade mission to non-magical Mundania, home of such weird beasts as horses and bears, so Dor had to take over as King for a week. A week passes. No Trent. Then three weeks. King Trent still hasn't returned. Surely, something terrible had happened; he was apparently held captive in some foul dungeon, unable to escape. Dor was left with the burden of ruling—and with Irene, who was entirely too willing to be his Queen! His only hope was to enter Mundania and free King Trent. But how could it be done without the powers of magic? Nevertheless, he started forth bravely—together with Irene, a golem, a centaur, and a young ogre—heading for the far south of Xanth. The entrance to Mundania, of course, lay to the north.

"Dreams of the Centaur" brings to light for the first time in fiction the tragic enslavement of the Yaqui Indians by Porfirio Diaz's regime at the turn of the last century. Through the lives of the Ducals--a Mexican family who has created a ranch out of the desert--this "Western saga brimming with the heart and soul of Mexico . . . is an extraordinarily rich novel" ("West Coast Review of Books").

Analise woke up in the hospital to find that her parents were dead. Her father's business partner has inherited the ranch she grew up on. To make matters worse her father's will stipulates she cannot receive her inheritance until she turns twenty-one. Now penniless and homeless, she agrees to a marriage of convenience with her father's business partner. After turning twenty-one and with her inheritance in hand, she no longer wishes to be trapped in a loveless marriage. Moving out she builds a life for herself away from the ranch and her husband. When her husband shows up on her door step asking to give their marriage a chance, she jumps at the idea of a marriage of love. The problem is: everyone has been lying to her, her whole life. Now those lies may very well get her killed.

It’s the beginning of summer break, and high school English teacher Shannon Parker is ready to relax poolside with some red wine and a good book. She’s friggin’ earned it! But first—a little shopping, a la fancy estate auction. Surrounded by old folks and even older artifacts, Shannon never expects to find something that shocks her down to her very core: an ancient vase, complete with a beautiful painting of a goddess that looks just like her. And just as she’s stealing away with her seriously suspicious purchase, she’s magically thrown into the world of Partholon, where not only has she taken the place of Rhiannon, Goddess Incarnate and Epona’s Chosen, but she’s due to be married to a surly (but oh-so-handsome) High Shaman centaur, ClanFintan. But serving as Epona’s Chosen isn’t just luxury baths and buff horse-guys. A dark power grows in the wastelands to the north, and Rhiannon will need much more than just the favor of Epona to protect the land—and the man—she’s grown to love.

Common Place negotiates intimacy while navigating the complexities of memory, addressing shifting, resilient bodies and landscapes challenged by systems of capital and power. From thin threads of text messages across borders to encounters with strangers in the crush of rush hour transit, Sarah Pinder explores seeing and being seen in our most private and public of moments. With considered, quiet urgency, these poems name our ambiguous, aching present and look towards what comes next.