Who eats orange—a chicken? A bunny? A bear? Find out in this unique exploration of colors and animals’ favorite foods. Animals eat a rainbow of different foods. Gorillas in the mountains eat green, octopi in the ocean eat red, and toucans in the canopy eat purple. Young animal enthusiasts will love digging into this lively journey around the world to explore the colorful diets of many animals, from the familiar to the exotic.

An incredibly ambitious and assured first novel from an explosively original new voice.

Fiction. Asian & Asian American Studies. Short Stories. A young translator living in Toronto frequently travels abroad-to Hong Kong, Macau, Prague, Tokyo-often with his unnamed lover. In restaurants and hotel rooms, the couple begin telling folk tales to each other, perhaps as a way to fill the undefined space between them. Theirs is a comic and enigmatic relationship in which emotions are often muted and sometimes masked by verbal play and philosophical questions, and further complicated by the woman's frequent unexplained disappearances. YOU ARE EATING AN ORANGE. YOU ARE NAKED. is an intimate novel of memory and longing that challenges Western tropes and Orientalism. Embracing the playful surrealism of Haruki Murakami and the atmospheric narratives of filmmaker Wong Kar-wai, Sheung-King's debut is at once lyrical and punctuated, and wholly unique, and marks the arrival of a bold new voice in Asian-Canadian literature. Sheung-King has written a wonderfully unexpected and maverick love story but also a novel of ideas that hopscotches between Toronto, Macau, Hong Kong, Tokyo, and Prague. It is enchanting, funny, and a joy to read.-Kyo Maclear

From the time she could barely see over the space bar of her old manual typewriter, to writing her popular southern culture blog, Folkways Nowadays, author Audrey McDonald Atkins has been sharing her downhome stories and essays about life in the South. In They Call Me Orange Juice, Atkins provides a nostalgic, poignant, and often-hilarious look at growing up in a small South Alabama town and how that upbringing still influences her today. What does it feel like to be the only Episcopalian at a Baptist church? How do you entertain yourself on a two-hour car trip with a dead man? What do you do when your foundation garment goes rogue in the middle of a busy intersection? And what price did they pay for calling her orange juice? Atkins answers all these questions and more in her own unmistakable Southern style. She recounts stories about the men who congregated in the police station and the eccentric characters who worked on Main Street, shares words of wisdom from her Granny, and tells how one superstitious old man could literally make it rain even during the dry, dog days of summer. Each person still lives in Atkins memory frozen in time just as they were in the 70s, and its these ghosts of bygone days who shine through in They Call Me Orange Juice.

A fussy eater decides to sample the carrots after her brother convinces her that they are really orange twiglets from Jupiter.

It’s Steve for the win — again! It’s time for the annual Race-a-thon, and Steve the horse is excited! After all, he’s got the longest legs in the forest. No wonder he always wins! But Steve soon finds out that the rules have changed. This year, the Race-a-thon is going to be a relay, with runners competing in teams. And who’s been put on Steve’s team? Turtle, Duck and Snail. Is it possible that Steve could lose the Race-a-thon for the first time ever? Kids will hear it straight from the horse’s mouth: there’s more than one way to be a winner!

My name’s Quinn. If you buy into my reputation, I’m the most notorious demon hunter in New England. But rumors of my badassery have been slightly exaggerated. Instead of having kung-fu skills and a closet full of medieval weapons, I’m an ex-junkie with a talent for being in the wrong place at the right time. Or the right place at the wrong time. Or…whatever. Wanted for crimes against inhumanity I (mostly) didn’t commit, I was nearly a midnight snack for a werewolf until I was “saved” by a vampire calling itself the Bride of Quiet. Already cursed by a werewolf bite, the vamp took a pint out of me too. So now…now, well, you wouldn’t think it could get worse, but you’d be dead wrong.