Alexandra Kathryn Mosca's 3 favorite reads in 2025

• 2024
• 2025

Barbie has always been more than a doll to me. In the same way, Renée Rosen’s novel is much more than a story about one. Reading Let’s Call Her Barbie (Berkley, 2025) felt like opening a shiny pink vinyl time capsule filled with tiny high heels, and the faint scent of childhood wonder. Rosen’s novel doesn’t simply tell the story of a doll –or the visionary, Ruth Handler, who created her; it revives the ambition, boldness, and defiant spirit that fueled Barbie’s creation.

While rendered as a work of historical fiction, Rosen’s book takes readers back to Barbie’s 1959 debut, capturing the excitement of the postwar toy boom and the changing dreams of American girls, placing Barbie in a world eager for something new. Just as skillfully, she traces Barbie’s evolution over the decades, showing how the doll remained relevant as Mattel introduced new and, often, more diverse dolls. Sometimes Barbie reflected society, while at other times she pushed boundaries with new careers and identities.

Reading the book brought back something deeply personal: memories of some of my happiest childhood days, when I spent endless hours immersed in Barbie’s world, not just playing but dreaming. And oh, the Sears Wish Book at Christmas. Those glossy pages devoted to Barbie and her friends felt almost sacred. I’d pore over them for hours, circling dream outfits with a pen, making wish lists. Barbie was a canvas for my imagination, a mirror for my hopes, and sometimes, a confidante in plastic heels. Every story I spun for her and her friends helped me imagine new possibilities. Looking back, I realize that Barbie taught me more than just style— she taught me about storytelling. And when it comes to telling Barbie’s story, Rosen tells it best.

To paraphrase the late poet Rod McKuen, we often fail to photograph the here and now because we assume it will last. Luckily for us, that is not so for Rolando Pujol. In his new book, The Great American Retro Road Trip. He takes readers on a cross country road trip, capturing the overlooked artistry of everyday America. The book brims with vivid color photographs of America–- road signs, restaurants, bars, fast-food chains, motels, theatres, candy stores—images that preserve the everyday wonders we’re so sure will always be there.

Organized by geographic region, the book highlights Roadside Quirks, Beloved Eats, and Mainstays of Main Street. It’s comprehensive without ever feeling cluttered: hundreds of vibrant photographs often paired with sidebars—Pujol calls them “pullovers,” because he says, “that’s exactly what you’ll want to do when you see them.” The pages invite you to linger and remember. Or perhaps to see some sights for the very first time. The book is an exercise in both nostalgia and discovery.

For me, the book was all about memory. I was delighted to see the cursive script sign for Dolle’s Candyland in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, a place I’ve visited many times. (The sign now has a new home in a local museum.) Seeing the familiar South of the Border sign and the iconic Coppertone billboard—with its mischievous puppy tugging at a little girl’s swimsuit—brought back memories of the many car trips down I 95 to the Florida vacations of my youth, often spent at the Fontainebleau, which appears in the book as well.
As a New Yorker, I was immediately drawn to the familiar: the Pepsi sign across from Manhattan’s now-shuttered Water Club, the iconic signs for Coney Island’s Nathan’s and Katz’s Deli.

Known as "The Retrologist" to his more than 95,000 Instagram followers, and through his Substack column, Pujol brings the same sensibility to the page—an eye for charm, a reverence for the past, and a knack for uncovering the cultural stories hiding in plain sight.

For the wanderlust inclined—or anyone who shares an affection for vintage Americana—this book is a joy.

President Theodore Roosevelt’s legacy thrives in Oyster Bay, Long Island. As you drive into town, a commanding statue of Roosevelt on horseback greets you. Just beyond lies Sagamore Hill, his beloved home, and the summer White House. Once the center of Roosevelt’s family life, today it is a national park. It is also at the center of Brett Baier’s new book, To Rescue the American Spirit.

In this book, Baier brings readers into Roosevelt’s world, sharing new insights into his life and examining the key decisions and defining moments that shaped America during his presidency. His narrative reveals Roosevelt’s complexity-- the reformer who fought corruption, the conservationist who preserved the vast American wilderness, and the stateman who projected strength – giving readers a vivid portrait of our 26th president and powerfully underscoring why Roosevelt’s values—courage, conservation, and character – still matter.

I have often walked the grounds of Sagamore Hill, past apple orchards still bearing fruit, and along the wooded trail to the family’s beach, with its sweeping views of Long Island Sound, and wondered what life was like for the Roosevelt family. Baier manages through his portrait of Roosevelt and his family to take us back in time to that place and that life.

In a passage near the end of the book, Baier captures the poignancy of the Roosevelt family’s last Christmas together -- overshadowed by the loss of their youngest son, Quentin, killed in WWI just months earlier. His account of Roosevelt’s failing health, and the way his spirit dimmed after Quentin’s death, is particularly moving. Quentin’s cenotaph still stands at Sagamore Hill, a quiet reminder of the loss that broke Roosevelt’s heart and—some say—hastened his own death. A few weeks later, on a snowy January day in 1919, Roosevelt was laid to rest at nearby Youngs Cemetery. Baier conveys the shock and grief that marked the end not only an extraordinary presidency, but of an extraordinary man. Reflecting the feelings of many, he quotes writer Mary Roberts Rhinehart, a friend of Roosevelt: “But something vital has gone. Something fine. Something that seemed as though it could not die.”