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When you were younger, you wanted nothing to do with parenthood.

Life was a party then and having a family was the farthest thing from your mind. Kids changed people and who wants that? Being a parent was something that happened to somebody else.

Once upon a time, Jennifer Finney Boylan thought that, too. But then she became a father. And then she became a woman and in her new memoir, “Stuck in the Middle with You” she writes about finding love, discovering life’s sweet spot, and being a mommy and a daddy.

Well over twenty-five years ago, James Boylan fell in love at first sight.

He remembered seeing Deirdre’s blue eyes from the audience as she performed onstage. He knew he had to ask her out, that he wanted to be her boyfriend. After she finally said yes to a date, it wasn’t long before she said yes to marriage and yes to a family. They welcomed son Zach first, and Sean a few years later.

And then James Boylan told his wife something that he’d been struggling with for his entire life: deep inside, he was really a woman. He could no longer tolerate life in hiding. After six years of being a father, James needed to live as Jennifer.

So how does a woman teach her son about being a man?  Would the boys be teased, ostracized, or ashamed?  Would they feel as though they lost a parent?

“What kind of men would my children become,” says Boylan, “… having been raised by a father who became a woman?”

As it turns out, Boylan shouldn’t have worried. Her eldest became an activist and works for justice. Her youngest is a fine musician. Their lives weren’t much different from that of their friends, and everyone generally “forgot that there was anything extraordinary about our family.”

Today, Boylan is still married to her wife of a quarter-century. It’s as “nontraditional” a union as you can imagine but then again, “traditional” families are no longer the norm anyhow. And besides, says Deirdre, “No matter what else you say about my husband, she’s an amazing woman.”

And though parenting memoirs replicate like rabbits these days, “Stuck in the Middle with You” is a pretty amazing book.

With her slightly-askew humor and a grateful sense of awe for her family’s relative ease in her transition, author Jennifer Finney Boylan writes from the heart on the subjects of being father and mother, son and daughter.  Those four roles were obviously played out by the same person, but it’s interesting to note how Boylan sees herself differently (and similarly) in each of them, pre- and post-transition. I also enjoyed her observations on connections between past and present, which nicely accompany interviews with friends and colleagues about family, children, and being a child.

Readers looking for scandal won’t find it here, but if you want something that’ll bring you to the brink of tears again and again, this is your book. Wanting “Stuck in the Middle with You” should be apparent.

c.2013, Crown     $24.00 / $28.00 Canada       288 pages

The Christmas tree is long gone.

It shed its last needle on the curb more than four months ago, looking sad without baubles on branches or gifts around its trunk. It’s probably mulch now, and that’s okay: the baubles are in a box in the garage, the gifts half-used or half-forgotten already, and you’re thinking summertime, not Yuletide.

But what if it was Christmas every day?  In Christmasland it is, and in the new novel “NOS4A2” by Joe Hill, the holiday’s a scream.

For her eighth birthday, Victoria McQueen got exactly what she wanted: a Raleigh Tuff Burner mountain bike. For a kid whose parents fought a lot, the bike meant freedom and escape that summer, and a different kind of adventure: accidentally, Victoria found a bridge didn’t really exist, that followed her whenever she went across it and took her where she needed to be, when she needed to be there. But since the bridge wasn’t real, Vic figured her memories of it weren’t, either. It was like a dream: touchable, but not quite.

Charles Talent Manx loved children. He loved them so much that he tried to protect them from their parents because Manx knew that tattooed women and preoccupied fathers meant trouble. So he enticed children into his 1938 Rolls Royce Wraith, promising that they’d live with him at Christmasland, where there were gifts every morning and candy every night. No child could resist Christmasland.

And no child came out of it the same.

Vic McQueen knew this because she once escaped Christmasland by a hair. She was just seventeen then, had learned about Manx and found something that disturbed her deeply. Her visit to Christmasland was a big mistake, yet it ultimately led to good things in her life: a man she loved and a son she loved even more.

But because she’d escaped (and her magic was a threat), Manx wanted to kill Vic. He would do anything to get her. He’d even take her son. And so, Victoria McQueen went back to the bridge that didn’t exist.

She pointed her motorcycle toward the other side and hit the gas…

Well, then. Let me just start by saying that you’re in for something good when you jump out of your skin on page 5 and you’ve got 688 pages left to read.

The funny thing is that “NOS4A2” is a novel that’s basically about good and evil, but it’s not the characters that make it so. Yes, author Joe Hill created a vile creature that’ll make you wince and a heroine who’s reluctantly heroic, but what really makes this book unsettling is that we never know where Hill hides the horror. We’re prepared for blood-and-guts, not for things dangerously innocent.

Add a few inside-jokes for readers, an ending that goes past the last page (keep reading!), and can’t-be-coincidental nods to both Hill’s parents and you’ve got an absolutely squirmy novel that’s better than anything Santa ever brought you. If that sounds like your kinda book, then “NOS4A2” is a ho-ho-whole lotta creepiness.

Happily ever after.

That’s how things go at the end of a fairy tale. The handsome prince weds the beautiful princess, dragons are slain, wicked witches become dust, peasants rejoice, and they all live… well, you know what comes next.

But maybe you’re wrong. Maybe scandal comes next, or war, disease, death. Only the servants know for sure, and in the new book “Serving Victoria ” by Kate Hubbard, they were quite willing to tell.

When Alexandrina Victoria became Queen of England in 1837, she inherited a court filled with impropriety, which scandalized the young woman. Though she ultimately retained some of her uncle’s court, she needed to appoint her own ladies-in-waiting, maids-of-honour, nursery attendants, physicians, and other personal staff. Members of her court were required to have a sense of duty, discretion, and high morals. Most of them would come from British aristocracy.

While writing a children’s book on the Queen, Kate Hubbard came across collections of letters and diaries written by various members of Victoria ’s entourage—penned notes that detailed life inside the Monarchy, including daily drudgery and isolation. Hubbard also found gossip that gives modern Anglophiles an intimate peek at the Queen, her husband, uncles, and other members of the Royal Family.

Working for the Queen seems like it would be an honor but it was, in truth, dull and dreary: evenings, for instance, consisted of stiff dinner conversation followed by two hours of small talk. The Queen was said to be somewhat immature and loud, often “showing her gums.” More than one blue-blooded Palace employee thought that Victoria and Albert were the 19th-century equivalents of trailer trash.

Still, despite mind-numbing duties, Palace life wasn’t horrid.

Queen Victoria never became friends with her female attendants, but she became “close” to some of them and was a generous gift-giver. Though the Queen notoriously kept drawing rooms and bedrooms at 40 degrees F or less, court members were well-fed and safely sheltered. They also got decent (for the time) salaries.

Yes, there were scandals within the Monarchy. There were births and deaths (it was said that the Queen was never happier than when planning a funeral). There were romances, public and imagined. And there were fights, inside both the British Empire and the Palace walls.

So you’re hooked on a show about a certain Abbey?  You’re a rabid Anglophile, long live the Queen?  Then I’m sure you’re already itching for “Serving Victoria.”

And for good reason: the Victoria Age comes alive with author Kate Hubbard’s findings, taking us behind brocaded curtains and inside bedchambers to learn delicious tidbits about a woman who’s been dead more than a century, but still remains fascinating.  I thoroughly enjoyed how Hubbard lays down a cheeky, gossipy tone; she’s chatty, but without offending the sensibilities of historians, who will likewise relish this semi-biographical narrative.

Monarch watchers will also like this book, as will British subjects, or anyone who’s interested in or wishes they’d experienced late-Victorian or early-Edwardian life. If that’s you, then “Serving Victoria” is a book you’ll devour, quite happily.

You’ll try anything once.

You’re daring when it comes to a new restaurant, new clubs, new fashion, pretty much anything. Something different for your plate? Bring it on. An activity you’ve never done before? You head the line. New technology? They call you First-Adopter.

Being open to new adventures keeps life fresh and exciting. And, as you’ll see in the new novel “Decadence” by Eric Jerome Dickey, embracing new experiences can also fulfill fantasies.

Nia Simone Bijou was feeling restless.

It had been six weeks since she last saw her lover, Prada, and though their weekend together left her sated, it wasn’t for long. She had hoped that her friendship with the soldier, Bret, would turn into a repeat of their one-night stand, but friendship was all he seemed interested in. And so, filled with desire, Nia Simone applied for membership to Decadence, a very exclusive and private swinger’s club four hours away from her Smyrna townhouse.

Decadence fees were astonishing, the medical process was thorough, and the interview was long and deeply personal, but Nia Simone had nothing to hide. She was used to being naked in front of others and she wasn’t afraid to describe her fantasies. She wanted new experiences, club rules were simple, and very little was off-limits.

On her first visit, she turned from Watcher to Doer. Decadence was a lover’s playground and she wished she could bring Prada with her, though she knew he’d never share her. And since monogamy was boring, sharing was what Nia Simone really desired.

But while Decadence was everything she needed it to be, it wasn’t as anonymous as she’d hoped.

Years before, when Nia Simone was in college, her heart was broken by her first love, a man who cheated on her with her pupil. It was still a fist to her gut when she thought about him—so seeing him in the club, watching him please that woman, brought white-hot anger to Nia Simone, and a need for sexual revenge.

Looking for a different Shade of Gray?  You might find it here, so bring your oven mitts.

Yes, indeed, “Decadence” is hot with a capital “H.”  It fairly blisters with explicitness—but it’s also relentless. Author Eric Jerome Dickey starts the action literally on the fourth word of this novel and he barely lets up until the end of the book. Alas, that relentlessness sometimes made me lose interest, which is when I started noticing a handful of words that are overused to the point of silliness, and a main character that speaks in tedious, faux-poetic metaphors.

To the good, though, there’s a thin plot in this book—which is better than some I’ve read in Dickey’s erotica collection. But really, let’s be honest: the plot isn’t why you’d want this book in the first place.

In case you didn’t catch on, this book is for adults only and shouldn’t even be kept in the same room with kids. If you’ve got that covered, then go ahead and give “Decadence” a try.

You always felt that you should live in a castle.

It would be a big castle with a shiny grand entrance and lots of elegant rooms. Imagine it: your feet would sink into plush carpets in the bedrooms, you’d sit on silk-upholstered chairs in the drawing room, and you’d sleep with thick, fluffy blankets in the bedrooms.

Oh, and turrets. There’d be lots of turrets and secret passageways.

And if you couldn’t have a castle, well, a mansion would do – but in the new book “The Astor Orphan: A Memoir” by Alexandra Aldrich, you’ll see that a big house is no big benefit.

Once upon a time, Rokeby was the finest estate that money could buy.

Built in 1815 by a government official on land that his wife inherited, it was forty-three rooms of splendor. It sported a music room, a library, extra kitchens, servants’ quarters, and a drawing room surrounded by 450 acres of prime New York land.  Rokeby was regal – and when the owner’s daughter married an Astor, the union brought “great wealth” to the family and to the estate.

As a descendant, Alexandra Aldrich’s father was entitled to live at Rokeby with his family. But by time Aldrich was born, the mansion had fallen into a terrible state of disrepair, as had her father’s relationship with his mother and siblings. Consequently, Teddy Aldrich, his wife, and daughter were relegated to the shabby servants’ quarters of the falling-apart mansion.

But Teddy didn’t mind. Since he was a boy, he’d been a bit of a troublemaker. That carried through to adulthood, from his unconventional marriage to a Polish bride, his unwillingness to bathe, and his collection of misfit friends, to his determination to remain oppositional in everything his mother suggested.

As an only child, Aldrich played with her better-off cousins who lived downstairs in the mansion. She aspired to perfection, felt protective of her parents, but found peace and warmth at the next-door home of her alcoholic grandmother.

Even with the chaos of a large, eccentric family, Aldrich remembers occasionally idyllic moments of childhood amid poverty. Mostly, though, she remembers wanting three things: To become a violin virtuoso. To have a regular, orderly life.

And to escape Rokeby as soon as possible.

I liked “The Astor Orphan,” but I can’t say I’d rave about it.

Mostly, as I was reading this memoir, I felt profoundly uncomfortable. Author Alexandra Aldrich writes at great length about growing up in genteel squalor and complete chaos while longing dearly for order. I kept waiting for that order to arrive, and it never does – which made me squirm more, the further I got into this book. I also felt very sad, partly because, well, let’s just say I’m an animal lover and we’ll leave it at that.

And yet, this is not a bad book. It’s well-written, but unsettling. And messy.

Overall, I think this memoir is worth a read – just know what you’re in for, is all. Try “The Astor Orphan” this weekend… but only if your bookshelf has room.