Over the course of his well-travelled life, Alberto Manguel amassed over 35,000 books. Then, on relocating from France to an apartment in New York City, he had to dismantle his library. This book documents his journey: sifting through the memories, ideas and emotions bound up in his remarkable collection. Personal reflections are interspersed with ‘digressions’ on topics and texts from The Divine Comedy to Edna St. Vincent Millay’s poetry, from ancient philosophy to Don Quixote.

A short but surprisingly profound love letter to literature, Packing My Library is sure to have you looking at your own bookshelves in a new way.

Evie Wyld’s latest novel The Bass Rock tells the story of three women and their families, set amidst the atmospheric backdrop of North Berwick.

Local landmarks familiar to Lothian residents – including, of course, the Bass Rock itself – are viewed in a new and sinister light. The book’s gothic, haunting undertone ultimately gives way to something far more rooted in fact, but just as disturbing: the repeating pattern of violence being inflicted by those in positions of power upon the vulnerable.

While it undoubtedly explores uncomfortable themes, Wyld’s beautiful descriptions of place and keen, wry observation of her characters ensure the book contains plenty moments of warmth and keep the story moving along at pace.

Having recently been shortlisted for the Booker Prize, it is no wonder that many people, including First Minister Nicola Sturgeon, are reaching for a copy of Shuggie Bain. Douglas Stuart has written this powerful debut novel drawing on his own life experiences.

Set in 1980s Glasgow, which seems to be unravelling under the weight of its own identity crisis, families struggle with unemployment, crushing poverty, and the waves of addiction that are engulfing much of the city. It is a book of both sadness and beauty, a chronicle of memorable characters, their defiance and hope in the face of the grim realities of life and survival.

An unassuming café in Tokyo is shrouded in modern folklore because from there it is believed visitors can travel in time. There are strict rules clearly defined at the beginning of the book: visitors cannot leave the café when they time travel; they can’t change circumstances in the present and they only have until their cup of coffee goes cold.

This quickly establishes the book as a time travel narrative like no other, there’s no looming panic about changing the course of history. Instead it’s a collection of life affirming tales from four visitors who travel in time bound by love for their partners, their sister or the daughter they never got to meet. The visitors, knowing they can’t change the present, travel to communicate more clearly, to see each other one last time, or to apologise.

A gentle and beautifully told novel that feels complete and will stay with you for a while after you’ve read it, and will offer opportunity to reflect over your next cup of coffee.

I read this book after the festival and couldn’t put it down until I’d finished it. I was totally absorbed by Mohsin’s story; it made me weep but it also gave me great hope.

Described as “a memoir of a gay Muslim’s journey to acceptance”, I can only imagine that committing such a personal story to paper must have felt terrifying at times, but it feels like a story that needs to be shared. It has a universal relevance and – like so many Book Festival events – it made me optimistic that open and thoughtful dialogue can create change.

This book packs a lot into 186 pages: part manifesto, part call to arms, part essential handbook to navigating the climate crisis.

Co-authored by two key architects of the 2015 UN Paris Agreement, it imagines what will happen if we meet the terms of that agreement by 2050, and what will happen if we don’t. There’s an urgency about it, but also an unshakable optimism underpinning the practical, manageable advice the authors give.

It reminds us that hope is a radical political act, and one we particularly need in times of crisis and uncertainty.

This book packs a lot into 186 pages: part manifesto, part call to arms, part essential handbook to navigating the climate crisis.

Co-authored by two key architects of the 2015 UN Paris Agreement, it imagines what will happen if we meet the terms of that agreement by 2050, and what will happen if we don’t. There’s an urgency about it, but also an unshakable optimism underpinning the practical, manageable advice the authors give.

It reminds us that hope is a radical political act, and one we particularly need in times of crisis and uncertainty.

After the death of her best friend Vivian, the narrator is torn apart with grief. To try to cope she revisits Vivian’s favourite television programme ‘Little Blue’ (invented by Plante) and in doing so relives their memories together. The novel details how these transgender women became friends and the unrequited love and loss that followed. The narrator falls into the unusual world of Little Blue and creates an encyclopedia based on the programme to dedicate to Vivian like a love letter.

It’s a poignant, playful and accessible read – aided by the alphabetical nature of the encyclopedic style. An impressive debut with which it’s easy to become enamoured.

Edinburgh-based writer Maggie O'Farrell has produced her finest novel to date with Hamnet, and it turns out to be remarkably topical too.

Hamnet is set in Stratford in the late-16th century, at a time when bubonic plague is on the rise across England. The central character in the book, Hamnet, is one of Shakespeare's three children. His twin sister Julia has fallen ill and he is desperately trying to find his mother Agnes.

Alongside a story of sickness, it's a way of looking at Shakespeare's emerging success as a playwright and his guilt as an absent father. O'Farrell's exquisite depiction of motherly love and her ability to construct a compelling narrative are masterful in this short but deeply moving novel.