CBS New York Book Club announces first FicPicks for 2025
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Find out more about the books below.
Club Calvi, it's time to vote on the first read of 2025!
The CBS New York Book Club has selected three new books by best-selling authors for January's FicPicks. Now it's up to you to vote for which book Club Calvi should read next!
"The Note" by Alafair Burke is a thriller involving three friends and their dangerous secrets. Set in East Hampton and New York City, the women try to overcome their scandalous pasts only to get ensnared in a new scandal.
"The Stolen Queen" by Fiona Davis is historical fiction that centers on the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1978 and its glamorous Gala. When a priceless Egyptian artifact goes missing, a curator must revisit a tragedy that occurred in Egypt's Valley of the Kings in the 1930's.
"More or Less Maddy" by Lisa Genova is family-life fiction about a young NYU student diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Her episodes take her from campus to hospitalization, her parents' Connecticut home, to comedy clubs as she and her family grapple with her mental health.
You can read excerpts below, and purchase the books through easy links.
The CBS New York Book Club focuses on books connected to the Tri-State Area in their plots and/or authors. The books may contain adult themes.
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"The Note" by Alafair Burke
From the publisher: It was meant to be a harmless prank.
Growing up, May Hanover was a good girl, always. Well-behaved, top of her class, a compulsive rule-follower. Raised by a first-generation Chinese single mother with high expectations, May didn't have room to slip up, let alone fail. Her friends didn't call her the Little Sheriff for nothing.
But even good girls have secrets. And regrets. When it comes to her friendship with Lauren and Kelsey, she's had her fair share of both. Their bond—forged when May was just twelve years old—has withstood a tragic accident, individual scandals, heartbreak and loss. Now the three friends have reunited for the first time in years for a few days of sun and fun in the Hamptons. But a chance encounter with a pair of strangers leads to a drunken prank that goes horribly awry.
When she finds herself at the center of an urgent police investigation, May begins to wonder whether Lauren and Kelsey are keeping secrets from her, testing the limits of her loyalty to lifelong friends.
What had they gone and done?
Alafair Burke lives in Manhattan and East Hampton, NY.
"The Stolen Queen" by Fiona Davis
From the publisher: Egypt, 1936: When anthropology student Charlotte Cross is offered a coveted spot on an archaeological dig in Egypt's Valley of the Kings, she leaps at the opportunity. That is until an unbearable tragedy strikes.
New York City, 1978: Nineteen-year-old Annie Jenkins is thrilled when she lands an opportunity to work for former Vogue fashion editor Diana Vreeland, who's in the midst of organizing the famous Met Gala, hosted at the museum and known across the city as the "party of the year."
Meanwhile, Charlotte is now leading a quiet life as the associate curator of the Met's celebrated Department of Egyptian Art. She's consumed by her research on Hathorkare-a rare female pharaoh dismissed by most other Egyptologists as unimportant.
The night of the gala: One of the Egyptian art collection's most valuable artifacts goes missing, and there are signs Hathorkare's legendary curse might be reawakening. Annie and Charlotte team up to search for the missing antiquity, and a desperate hunch leads the unlikely duo to one place Charlotte swore she'd never return: Egypt. But if they have any hope of finding the artifact, Charlotte will need to confront the demons of her past-which may mean leading them both directly into danger.
Fiona Davis lives in New York City.
"More or Less Maddy" by Lisa Genova
From the publisher: Maddy Banks is just like any other stressed-out freshman at NYU. Between schoolwork, exams, navigating life in the city, and a recent breakup, it's normal to be feeling overwhelmed. It doesn't help that she's always felt like the odd one out in her picture-perfect Connecticut family. But Maddy's latest low is devastatingly low, and she goes on an antidepressant. She begins to feel good, dazzling in fact, and she soon spirals high into a wild and terrifying mania that culminates in a diagnosis of bipolar disorder.
As she struggles to find her way in this new reality, navigating the complex effects bipolar has on her identity, her relationships, and her life dreams, Maddy will have to figure out how to manage being both too much and not enough.
Lisa Genova lives in Massachusetts.
Excerpt: "The Note" by Alafair Burke
It was meant to be a harmless prank. Not even a prank, not initially.
An inside joke, only for the three of them. But now she was locking her apartment door behind two departing police officers.
She had managed to sound appropriately earnest but unworried when they began asking questions. After all, why should May Hanover, of all people, be nervous around police? May was the good girl, always. The one who only needed to be told once by a teacher to open a book to a specific page. The teenager who drove strictly within the limits of her learner's permit. Even her pug, Gomez, seemed to understand at an instinctive level why he needed to break away from his neighbor buddies to ride the building's service elevator while they strutted brazenly with their humans through the lobby.
May, simply put, was a rule follower. A rule enforcer, in fact. It was a trait that had helped her succeed in life, but, as she had learned, could also lead to trouble.
Josh emerged from the bedroom where he'd gone to give her privacy when the police arrived. Gomez waddled slightly behind him. "Was that about Roland Shaw?"
Shaw was the man she'd convicted in her final in-person trial as an assistant district attorney after he was found breaking into his next victim's apartment. "How'd you know?" Could a question be a lie? That one probably counted. So many lies since she'd gotten home yesterday from her long weekend in the Hamptons.
"That was a major case for you. I recognized the big guy from the news."
The trial was before she and Josh had found themselves suddenly living together. Before they were engaged. The media coverage consisted of two small articles in the Post, including a photograph of a defiant-looking May flanked by two detectives in the courthouse hallway—one of them the "big guy" Josh recognized. Whereas May was obsessed with all things crime-related—in her job, the news, truth or fiction—Josh found it all, quote, "dark and depressing." But Josh was interested in all things May-related. Of course he had followed the coverage.
"The DA's Office got an inquiry from another jurisdiction and needed to clear something up," she said. Misleading, but technically true.
"They couldn't just call you?" he asked.
"Actually, he called, but I didn't see the message." That one was a full-on lie. "Guess he's training a new guy and wanted a change of scenery."
"Well, I'm glad they were quick. I really wanted a Negroni but thought the sound of a cocktail shaker might be inadvisable while you were in official law enforcement mode."
"Another reason why you should stir," she said. "I like what I like."
"Make two? I'm getting back into my comfy clothes." She called Lauren once she was alone in the bedroom. "Hey there, woman. We were just saying we miss you."
"Yes, we miss you!" Kelsey called out in the background. "Come back here right now. It's boring without you.
May could hear a few drinks' worth of enthusiasm in Kelsey's voice. "You're clearly having a miserable time. Absolutely suffering." She felt a knot form in her sternum as she steeled herself to explain why she was calling. "I don't even know how to say this, but the police are probably going to call you. Both of you."
"What? How would they even know about us?" Lauren asked. "They came to my apartment. They asked who I was with. I didn't have a choice. They have your names. And your phone numbers." "How? Were there cameras or something?"
"No, it was because of me. I'm so sorry."
What had she gone and done? No one was supposed to know about any of their stupidity. And now something really, really bad was going to happen—she could feel it. Something she couldn't control. She wanted to open her mouth wide to scream—to scream impossibly loudly again, like last time.
From The Note by Alafair Burke. Copyright © 2024 by the author and reprinted by permission of Knopf.
Excerpt: "The Stolen Queen" by Fiona Davis
NEW YORK CITY, 1978
Charlotte paused in front of one of her favorite depictions of the female pharaoh Hathorkare in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a fragment of a statue known as the Cerulean Queen. While many of the other figures from Egypt were made of limestone or red granite with a rough finish, the Cerulean Queen was made of finely polished lapis lazuli. The only remnant of the statue was a tantalizing fragment of the lower portion of its head, consisting of the cheeks, the chin, and a large portion of the lips. And what lips they were: beautifully curved and utterly sensuous. The lips of Hathorkare. If the rest of the statue came anywhere close to being as beautiful as the lips, it must have been a sight to behold. Charlotte wondered how it came to be smashed. Was it accidentally dropped while being moved from one location to another? Or did someone take a hammer to it on orders from Saukemet II? The thought was too awful to contemplate.
The fragment was small, only around five inches across. It had been found at the turn of the twentieth century, by a British earl who fancied himself something of an Egyptologist, in a trash heap containing destroyed statues of Hathorkare, just outside her temple. Nearby had lain a broken slab of limestone with a warning that translated to "Anyone who removes an object dear to Hathorkare outside of the boundaries of the kingdom will face the wrath of the gods."
The earl was killed in a hunting accident two weeks after bringing the Cerulean Queen to his estate in Hampshire. His widow quickly sold it off to the Met, and died less than a month later choking on a gumdrop.
The curse of Hathorkare hadn't ended with the death of the earl's widow. Charlotte had fallen under its spell as well.
It was dangerous to think about that time.
Charlotte took a couple of deep breaths, studying the curve of the statue's chin, trying to imagine the shape of the nose and eyes. The Cerulean Queen gave her hope. Hope that one could be broken and crushed and still carry on, the gleaming remnant proof that something beautiful once existed in this terrible world.
She headed downstairs, where Frederick and several others from their department stood around a large worktable in the storeroom, one of many bursting with artwork and sculptures in the Met's basement level.
"Ah, Charlotte. I know you'll want to see this," said Frederick, waving her over. Whatever lay on the table was hidden due to the crush of bodies surrounding it. "We've just received a very generous one‑year loan from an anonymous donor."
Frederick usually consulted with Charlotte on any loans. Why now, when they had their hands full managing the loans for the King Tut exhibition, would they need one more? Typical Frederick, to have his attention pulled by the latest shiny new thing. She hoped it was worth it as she maneuvered her way closer.
But once she was at the edge of the table and the object came into focus, she gasped, one hand going to her heart. The conservators on either side of her looked at her curiously.
In the middle of the table lay a broad collar, a type of necklace popular in ancient Egypt. But this one was exquisite, made of gold and glass, and Charlotte knew even before she leaned in closer that she would find a gap on the right side of the bottom row where one of the nefer amulets was missing.
The piece was exceptional, distinctive.
She'd first seen it in Egypt, in 1936, when it was lifted from the bowels of a tomb, covered in dust.
And she'd last seen it a year later, right before it was lost at the bottom of the Nile. She'd been twenty years old.
"Does it have the cartouche of Hathorkare on the back of the clasp?" she asked, not bothering to hide the panic in her voice.
"It certainly does." Frederick nodded to the technician, who turned over the necklace with gloved hands to show off the hieroglyphics that represented the pharaoh's name, enclosed in an oval. "I'm impressed."
"Where did this come from?" she demanded.
"Charlotte, are you all right?" Frederick regarded her with concern. "You're as white as a sheet."
She had so many questions, the words got stuck in her throat. "Why are we getting it? Who was the donor?"
"The donor asked to remain anonymous. We have the broad collar for one year. I thought you'd be pleased."
She could almost hear the screams from that fateful night echoing in her head. The night that changed everything. And the reason she could never return to Egypt.
Frederick ordered the technicians to take the necklace away and turned to leave. Charlotte followed him out the door.
"You have to tell me who the donor is," she said. "It's important."
Frederick looked at his watch. "I have exactly four minutes until my next meeting at the other side of the building. Why exactly do you need to know this information?"
She couldn't tell him. That would reveal too much, and she was barely hanging on as it was. "I was there when it was found."
"Ah, back in Egypt, in the olden days." He laughed at his joke. Charlotte did not. "What does it matter who owns it now?"
"It doesn't make sense, how it suddenly reappeared like this. It was lost."
"Then lucky for us it was found. I would think you would be pleased."
Far from it. But Charlotte had to find out where the broad collar came from, how it got to the Met.
And why it was haunting her from the grave.
Excerpted from The Stolen Queen by Fiona Davis. Copyright © 2025 by Fiona Davis. All rights reserved. Excerpted by permission from the publisher.
Excerpt: "More or Less Maddy" by Lisa Genova
It's late afternoon, and she's done with classes for the day. She's alone in her room, blasting Taylor's Red album on her portable speaker, dancing like a maniac, sweating and singing her soul out. In the middle of "The Lucky One," she hears pounding on the door. She shimmies across the room and opens it to reveal the scowling face of petite Nina from across the hall.
"Love Taylor, but can you please turn the volume down or use headphones?"
"Yeah, okay."
She closes the door, pauses the music, and looks for her AirPods on her desk and bed but can't find them. Her dorm room suddenly feels too quiet and small to contain her. It's Wednesday, two days shy of another weekend with Adam. But she's restless and wants to see him now. Why not? She'll surprise him.
She steps outside, and the air is crisp and gorgeous, unseasonably warm for November. She decides she's going to walk the five or so miles to Columbia instead of taking the subway. Aside from the streets surrounding Washington Square and the campus at Columbia, she really hasn't seen much of New York City. If she goes anywhere, she gets there underground. She's lived here for over a year and still hasn't seen Central Park. She knows her mother took her and Jack to the zoo there when she was little because she's seen the pictures, but she doesn't remember it, and she hasn't been there since. It's time to get to know this magnificent city.
The good weather has put people in a cheery mood, and she can feel it. She smiles at her fellow New Yorkers as they walk toward her, feeling a deep connection, a kinship. They are family on this sidewalk, in this neighborhood, alive at the same time on this planet together. If anyone smiles back, and many of them do, her heart lifts, swelling with love.
Something delicious permeates the air, and the odor lures her like a magic spell to the hot dog cart on the next corner. She hasn't eaten a hot dog since she was thirteen, swore off them after watching a documentary about how they're made in health class, disgusted by the thought of their questionable ingredients. But these are authentic New York hot dogs, and she is an authentic New Yorker. They look and smell amazing.
"What'll it be?" asks the vendor.
"One hot dog, mustard and ketchup please."
She watches him assemble her hot dog in awe, as if it were performance art. He hands it to her, and she pays. She steps aside and takes a bite.
"Oh my God," she announces to the vendor and everyone in line. "This is the best thing I've ever had in my mouth."
Several people in the line laugh.
"That's right, sweetheart. You have a good day!" says the vendor.
A bounce in her step, she eats the rest of the hot dog as she continues toward the park. She stops before a storefront window, arrested by the beauty of a blazer on a headless mannequin in the display. The lapel is velvet-cake red with pink satin trim. It has three pockets. She loves pockets. But what really captures her heart are the roses—bold red, pink, and yellow roses in unapologetic bloom all over the gray blazer.
She dashes into the store, finds the blazer on a rack near the mannequin, and tries it on right there. She steps in front of a mirror and checks herself out. It fits and looks phenomenal on her with her leggings and black Converse high-tops, but the blue sweater she's wearing is too bulky for it. She removes the blazer, pulls the sweater off, and slides herself back into the blazer, which is now coupled only with her lacy black bra.
O. M. G. Yes!
She checks the label. Dolce & Gabbana. She finds the price tag. $4,146. Holy s***. She poses in front of the mirror as if she were a model, trying on the idea of owning this extravagant garment, and a giddiness balloons inside her, forcing a smile on her face fatter than those fabulous roses.
This isn't just a blazer. This is fashion. She must have it. Her credit card is yoked to her mother's account, and her mother has been very clear that it's only to be used in an emergency. Well, this is clearly a fashion emergency! Her mother would want her to have the blazer, a reward for pulling her grades out of the gutter. She could easily take eight classes instead of four next semester, graduate early, and save her mother a fortune. The blazer's a drop in the bucket by comparison.
Plus it's really Phil's money. He's so old. How many years does he have left, ten? He can leave some of his money to her in his will and she can buy all the clothes she wants after he's gone, or she can spend a little now on a magnificent blazer she loves and enjoy it while he's still here. Life is to be lived now! Now is all there is!
Forgetting her ordinary sweater on the floor, she walks over to the register, presents the blazer to the sales clerk, and plunks her credit card down on the counter.
"No bag and cut the tags, please. I'm going to wear it."
Back outside, she struts down the sidewalk as if it were a runway during fashion week, walking in step to the imagined beat of "Welcome to New York," feeling the best she's ever felt in her life. A cute guy on the corner in jeans and a burgundy flannel over a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt makes eye contact. She smiles.
"Hey, you wanna see a comedy show?" he asks.
He offers her a postcard. She stops, feeling singled out, special. She's reminded of the comedy night with Sofia she missed this summer because Adam was such a wet blanket and didn't want to go. And she caved, bending like a crazy straw to accommodate his wishes. Why did she always do that? She totally should've gone. She holds the postcard in her hand, and this moment feels meant to be, like a divine gift, a chance to rectify the past, to repair this crack in the matrix.
"Yeah. Where?"
"Right over there." She looks over his shoulder and reads Comic Strip Live on the awning. "There's a show at six and another at eight. It's twenty dollars a ticket, two-drink minimum."
She looks for the time on her phone. 5:50. She smiles at life's perfection.
"Great, I'll go now!"
"I should warn you, the six is newer comics. The eight o'clock show will be much better."
She shrugs him off as if he'd given her a forecast of thundershowers when anyone with two eyes can see that the sky is unblemished blue, and she heads straight for the door beneath the awning.
Excerpted from MORE OR LESS MADDY by Lisa Genova. Copyright © Lisa Genova. Reprinted by permission of Scout Press, an imprint of Simon & Schuster, LLC.
