Have you ever wondered why baby bears are called cubs? Why are baby deer called fawns, baby cats kittens, and baby cows calves? Why not John or Sue or Pat? Many, many years ago, in a forest not far from you now, a small bear with a unique name learned that being different, even in name alone, can be a challenge. When Cubby the little bear found himself alone on a short and dangerous adventure, he learned a lot about himself. He confronted his fears, faced down a scary hunter, and used his secret weapon to save his friends: laughter! Cubby's adventure will always be remembered, as it was passed down from family to family to explain the real reason baby animals are named as they are.

Investigative journalist Peter Laufer is back with his third book in a trilogy that explores the way we humans interact with animals. The attack of a trainer at Sea World by a killer whale in February 2010 is the catalyst for this examination of the controversial role animals have played in the human arenas of entertainment and sports. From the Romans throwing Christians to lions to cock-fighting in present-day California, from abusive Mexican circuses to the thrills of a Hungarian counterpart, from dog training to shooting strays in the Baghdad streets, Laufer looks at the ways people have used animals for their pleasure. The reader travels with Laufer as he encounters fascinating people and places, and as he ponders the ethical questions that arise from his quest.

The slyly funny, sweetly moving memoir of an unconventional dad’s relationship with his equally offbeat son—complete with fast cars, tall tales, homemade explosives, and a whole lot of fun and trouble . Misfit, truant, delinquent. John Robison was never a model child, and he wasn’t a model dad either. Diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome at the age of forty, he approached fatherhood as a series of logic puzzles and practical jokes. When his son, Cubby, asked, “Where did I come from?” John said he’d bought him at the Kid Store and that the salesman had cheated him by promising Cubby would “do all chores.” He read electrical engineering manuals to Cubby at bedtime. He told Cubby that wizards turned children into stone when they misbehaved. Still, John got the basics right. He made sure Cubby never drank diesel fuel at the automobile repair shop he owns. And he gave him a life of adventure: By the time Cubby was ten, he’d steered a Coast Guard cutter, driven a freight locomotive, and run an antique Rolls Royce into a fence. The one thing John couldn’t figure out was what to do when school authorities decided that Cubby was dumb and stubborn—the very same thing he had been told as a child. Did Cubby have Asperger’s too? The answer was unclear. One thing was clear, though: By the time he turned seventeen, Cubby had become a brilliant chemist—smart enough to make military-grade explosives and bring state and federal agents calling. Afterward, with Cubby facing up to sixty years in prison, both father and son were forced to take stock of their lives, finally coming to terms with being “on the spectrum” as both a challenge and a unique gift. By turns tender, suspenseful, and hilarious, this is more than just the story of raising Cubby. It’s the story of a father and son who grow up together.

Kissimmee, Florida traces its name to the Jororo tribe, among the first to settle along the river valley. Riverboat captains, entrepreneurs, and speculators found Kissimmee and nearby Lake Tohopekaliga irresistible, and soon settlers followed. The 1880s marked this city's first brush with tourism, as the Tropical Hotel became the largest resort hotel south of Jacksonville. As the cattle town struggled to survive floods, the Depression, and downtown neglect in favor of spillover Walt Disney World business, committed citizens fought back and spiritedly rekindled the town into a favored tourist spot.

Cubby meets a young girl sitting under a tree reading a book.

A panoramic explanation of "civic tourism" and the shaping of a national identity At the same time a reading of Kenneth Burke and of tourist landscapes in America, Gregory Clark's new study explores the rhetorical power connected with American tourism. Looking specifically at a time when citizens of the United States first took to rail and then highway to become sightseers in their own country, Clark traces the rhetorical function of a wide-ranging set of tourist experiences. He explores how the symbolic experiences Americans share as tourists have helped residents of a vast and diverse nation adopt a national identity. In doing so he suggests that the rhetorical power of a national culture is wielded not only by public discourse but also by public experiences. Clark examines places in the American landscape that have facilitated such experiences, including New York City, Shaker villages, Yellowstone National Park, the Lincoln Highway, San Francisco's 1915 Panama-Pacific International Exposition, and the Grand Canyon. He examines the rhetorical power of these sites to transform private individuals into public citizens, and he evaluates a national culture that teaches Americans to experience certain places as potent symbols of national community. Invoking Burke's concept of "identification" to explain such rhetorical encounters, Clark considers Burke's lifelong study of symbols—linguistic and otherwise—and their place in the construction and transformation of individual identity. Clark turns to Burke's work to expand our awareness of the rhetorical resources that lead individuals within a community to adopt a collective identity, and he considers the implications of nineteenth- and twentieth-century tourism for both visual rhetoric and the rhetoric of display.