Gypsy Boy: My Life in the Secret World of the Romany Gypsies by Mikey Walsh
c.2012, Thomas Dunne Books, $24.99 U.S., 288 pages

When you were very small, there wasn’t much you wanted. Clean diapers, a cuddle and food made the shortlist early on. Stuffed animals were slowly added, then siblings, books and anything you could climb on.

By the time you hit school, your wants became more complicated. You wanted to be somehow famous. You wanted to stay up late, snack before dinner and possess that cool toy you saw on TV. You wanted to grow up fast.

Author Mikey Walsh wanted those things, too, but he never wanted to become a fighter. As you’ll see in his memoir, Gypsy Boy, his father had other ideas…

Mikey Walsh’s father was “fiercely determined” to have a son.

In Romany culture, having a male child was everything—even more so for the Walsh family, which was known for generations of manly men who were good with their fists. So, even though his mother was told that her heart condition precluded a second child, Mikey followed his sister in succession. Upon the happy event, Mr. Walsh hung golden boxing gloves around his newborn son’s neck.

Growing up, Mikey loved the dramatic. He and his older sister, Frankie, enjoyed dress-up and pretending games. They loved watching TV and, largely unsupervised, they played outside with their cousins, who lived on the same compound.

It was an idyllic early childhood but at age four, Mikey’s destiny caught up with him. His father decided that it was time to start fight-training, and the best way to do it was to beat the boy. His disgust at Mikey’s cries meant more punches.

By age seven, Mikey was being “hidden” in school, by his mother, which was an unusual move. Gypsies were mostly forbidden to mingle with “Gorgias,” and sending a child to a Gorgia school was scandalous. It was her way of keeping Mikey safe, though, and it gave him a chance at an education, which was something she didn’t have. Yet, the beatings continued—always daily, sometimes more.

By age 13, Mikey realized that he was gay which, he knew, would enrage his father. He also knew that he needed to escape before it cost him his life...

Stunned. Simply nowhere-to-go stunned. That was me at the end of this book. Pseudonymous author Mikey Walsh lulls his readers into first believing that they’re reading a droll memoir filled with quirky relatives and a secret world that few have dared write about. Walsh busts a few myths about Romany culture, pokes gentle fun at his family and makes us laugh out loud while he’s doing it.

But much like a cur that can’t be trusted, Gypsy Boy turns quick and bites. Walsh takes the laughter and, two pages later, spins it with horror and a painful emotionlessness that only serves to underscore the brutality he describes—which ultimately leads to an end that shimmers like a tambourine.

Published in Europe three years ago, Gypsy Boy is new stateside and absolutely can’t be missed. If you’re up for a funny, brutal, sharp memoir, this is the book you want.

Lone Wolf by Jodi Picoult
c.2012, Emily Bestler Books / Atria, $28, 432 pages

Your mother often said you were born in a barn. That’s because it seemed like you were always going ape, laughing like a hyena and horsing around. Surely, you drove her batty until she didn’t think she could bear another minute of you but secretly, Mom probably didn’t mind. She knew you were healthy as a horse and, really, one look at those puppy-dog eyes and your monkeyshines were always forgiven.

You were a wild child, and then you grew out of it—much to the relief of your loved ones. But in the new novel Lone Wolf by Jodi Picoult, Luke Warren embraced the animal in himself and in doing so, he destroyed his family.

Luke Warren never really wanted fame. As a biologist, he never thought he’d write a book or become a TV star. Reticent, almost hermit-like, what Luke really wanted was for his research to help people understand that real wolves aren’t like the ones in fairy tales. Wolves have a unique culture, an explicit way of communicating, and family is everything. They’re also more afraid of humans than humans are of them.

And Luke knew that because he lived for two years in the Canadian wilderness with a pack of wolves.

Edward Warren remembered those years without a father; how his mother, Georgie, cried and how his little sister, Cara, missed her daddy. Edward was 15 then, and Luke had burdened him with a man-of-the-house talk before he left, handing Edward the financial reins and making him sign a scrap of paper which gave the boy medical power of attorney.

Wanting neither, Edward did his best. But shortly after his father returned from Canada, shortly after he told his mother he was gay, Edward left home, angry, vowing never to return.

Cara Warren barely remembered Luke’s absence, but it didn’t matter anymore. After her parents divorced, Cara lived with her mother but favored her father. Everything she knew, she learned from him. Compassionate, smart, wise and patient, he adored her and he adored his wolves.

But that was before the accident. That was before doctors said that Luke would never regain consciousness, before Georgie called Edward home. Before Edward decided that it was time to let his father go peacefully…

Filled with well-rounded characters you come to feel as though you know personally, Lone Wolf is comfortingly typical of author Jodi Picoult’s other works. Each person is allowed to tell his or her own story, there’s a pivotal issue around which they all revolve, and there’s a tantalizing, hidden “hook” you know is there but that you hate to see.

What’s different about this novel is that one of the characters tells his story from a unique place. That’s unexpected, and I also won’t tell you why the ending was a sweet relief. You’ve got to find out yourself.

And if you’re a member of Jodi’s Pi-cult, that won’t be a problem at all. For you, or for any new fan of this author, Lone Wolf is a howling good read.