National Network for Equitable Library Service

Ride, You Tonto Raiders: Matt Sabre is a young and experienced gunfighter.

Jay Hopler's second collection, a mourning song for his father, is an elegy of uproar, a careening hymn to disaster and its aftermath.

What happens when children are denied love and then left to their own devices' Follow Me into the Dark traces the unraveling of a family marred by perverse intergenerational abuse.

‘All of Nichol’s work is stamped by his desire to create texts that are engaging in themselves as well as in context, and to use indirect structural and textual devices to carry meaning.

Shortlisted for the Commonwealth Writers' Prize for Best First Book (Canada and Caribbean region) Nine-year-old Phineas William Walsh has an encyclopedic knowledge of the natural world.

something like wait for mein the braille of scarstonight can i suggest a little punctuationcircle half-moon vertical line of astonishmenta pause that transformslight and breath into language a

In the half-built skeleton of a monstrously vulgar mansion in one of L.A.'s toniest neighborhoods, a watchman stumbles on the bodies of a young couple-murdered in flagrante and left in a grues

In Sarah Sheard's celebrated novel Almost Japanese, a young girl's obsession with a famous Japanese musician blossoms into personal transformation.

All Tom's friends really are superheroes. There's the Ear, the Spooner, the Impossible Man. Tom even married a superhero, the Perfectionist.

Winner of the 2009 ReLit Award! He saw it. Like one dead eye filmed over. Like a tunnel that would kill you. Like a star coming to explode you. He saw it. Closer and closer. It was morning.

KWONG WAS A GOD. Everything was about to change.

Croak is a frog-and-girl opera in three parts, played out like a YouTube mashup of mid-century cartoons, all set to a contemporary pop song.

Nothing slips by Brecken Hancock’s deft ear as she seductively plumbs the depths of the evolution of bathing, doppelgängers, the Kraken and the minutiae of family with all its tragic misgivings.

What if the cinema of the present were a Möbius strip of language, a montage of statements and questions sutured together and gradually accumulating colour?

A lyrical wilderness of power, wealth, leisure and desire, the poems of Country Club freewheel across state lines with panache and flagrant feeling.