Their fading psychic powers signal to the three point-of-view characters, who trade off quick chapters, that the magical gateway—through which a flood of the blitz, gargoyles, and other mythological creatures has appeared—might be closing. Zora seeks to escape the ruthless militia who have captured her. Cassie resolutely sets out on the back of a (more or less) tamed blitz to rescue a young friend with extraordinary animal-communication powers who has been kidnapped. And Thomas negotiates with a demonic, corpse-eating ghoul for access to the godlike elders of the magical world. The frequent shifts in perspective and locale lead to choppy pacing rather than growing suspense, and an eventual, indecisive battle between the blitz and ghouls comes off more as a contrived climax than a necessary development. Still, there’s plenty of action, some of it involving dragon riding, and the author does tuck in a few nifty ideas, like a ghoul-given grave-sight that tells Thomas how soon people will die by how fast their faces seem to rot, and a talking mushroom that dispenses healing (but ominously infectious) spores. The human cast largely presents white.

This is an impressive exposé of an industry that aims to connect “toxic” overseas clients with lawmakers from both parties. Some readers would happily forget this book’s infamous figures, but Vogel delivers an important message: The foreign influence business is “more rapacious than ever.” Though the New York Times reporter is perhaps too permissive in letting his subjects spin suspect anecdotes, his book is full of small scoops backed by “previously unreported” memos, letters, and emails. Headed by Paul Manafort, Hunter Biden, Rudy Giuliani, and relative newcomer Robert Stryk—“rhymes with ‘trick,’” Vogel slyly writes—the cast of rogues gets help from erstwhile U.S. officials who wield their résumés for ethically hazy profit. Government documents show that authoritarian governments spent $150 million on “disclosed lobbying” in two recent years. Such efforts “can shape the treaties, tariffs, and trade policies” that affect consumer prices and jobs. Vogel’s subjects are unembarrassed, openly repping warlords, kleptocrats, and dictators. “I helped fix an election in a very important African country based upon U.S. interests,” says Stryk. Hunter Biden alluded to his father’s power when negotiating with a Chinese businessman and “work[ed] against stated U.S. foreign policy interests” in Romania. Ex-FBI boss Louis Freeh has made money authoring “nominally independent reports” boosting the reputations of foreign leaders facing charges, the author writes. This isn’t a new phenomenon. Vogel helpfully notes that Jimmy Carter’s son and brother lobbied for overseas strongmen. The industry “didn’t slow during Obama’s administration or Biden’s,” and President Trump’s attorney general Pam Bondi—herself a former lobbyist for Qatar—has axed some of the FBI’s anti–foreign influence tools. As this smart, brisk book shows, there’s “never been a moment like this” for what one lobbyist calls their “shitbag world.”

Chief Inspector Yiannis Patronas embodies the contradictions of modern Greece. He mourns his country’s culturally vibrant and racially homogeneous past while rejecting the racist, anti-immigrant sentiments of his community. When a Syrian woman is discovered with her throat slit, Patronas’ investigation penetrates a dark network of human traffickers operating around Chios’ large refugee camp. Despite pressure from his superiors, who consider the deaths of immigrants insignificant, Patronas is dogged in his pursuit of justice. His investigation leads him through the island’s stark contrasts and into increasingly dangerous territory as he uncovers the systematic exploitation of desperate refugees. The setting serves as both character and backdrop. The island’s idyllic beauty—its “miraculous light and endless sea”—is skillfully juxtaposed against the appalling poverty and degradation of the camp. Serafim’s protagonist, Patronas, emerges as a compelling figure whose internal contradictions feel authentic and whose noble but begrudging determination makes him an effective noir hero. His cynicism is balanced with a romantic side that reveals his ambivalent attitude toward Greece’s complex social and political landscape. His investigation unfolds at a brisk, engaging pace that propels readers forward, though seasoned mystery readers will likely anticipate several plot developments before they occur. (The twists and turns of the story include extremely violent and disturbing episodes, which are justified by the narrative but may upset some readers.) Supporting characters—namely, a gluttonous priest and an alcoholic but courageous officer—enrich the narrative, providing both comic relief and emotional depth. There are some structural weaknesses: The relationship between Patronas’ gritty investigative work and the more sentimental aspects of his family life creates tonal inconsistencies that occasionally dilute the story’s noirish atmosphere. Nonetheless, the book remains an engaging and thought-provoking read.

In the East Village in New York City, a man steals a french fry, gets into a fist fight, takes drugs, and has a depraved tryst with a sex worker behind a dumpster—all in the first few pages of this debaucherous satirical comedy. Rusty, a sex-addicted man with erectile dysfunction, spends his days (and nights) pursuing demeaning, degrading sex. After a particularly haunting night spent debasing a woman named Sonya, Rusty decides to respond to an advertisement that promises to cure his erectile dysfunction. When he goes in for treatment, however, Rusty finds that the ad was actually a cover for a secretive and fantastical group called the Wormhole Society, “a secret society that uses wormholes to change people.” Availing one’s self of the wormholes comes with two risks: “losing the self and ending up lost in time.” With nothing to lose, Rusty thrusts himself through a portal (cleverly disguised as a sandwich board inside his favorite local restaurant) and hurtles through time and space. Somewhere in between masturbating in a crowded elevator on 9/11, having animalistic sex with Lucy, the first known human on Earth, and experiencing an orgasm as nothing but a subatomic particle in the Big Bang, Rusty begins to question who he is and how he can be a better man. (He also wonders if “doctors [he] saw in the parallel universe [would] be considered out-of-network.”) Via blunt, sharp prose and rough dialogue (“‘I wanted a ladyboy, but if you’re into extreme humiliation you can stay,’ I slurred as I cracked a popper and felt a wave of warmth surging through my body”), Levy creates characters both deplorable and engaging. Throughout Rusty’s obscene and otherworldly journey, the author boldly tackles topics including human nature, self-worth, and relationships at their ugliest. Not for the faint of heart, this dark comedy is “terminally unique”—and wholly compelling.

In his debut memoir, the author, a former Arizona state representative, recounts the highlights and low points of an eventful life, including his wife Rhonda’s battle with breast cancer and his own nightmarish experience with Covid-19. Sierra describes himself as a classic “retail politician,” someone who regularly cuts ribbons or appears in parades. “I like getting to know people,” he writes, “shaking hands, and giving hugs.” He asserts that his wife was an invaluable help in “cultivating” his finer qualities. “I’m not saying it was an Eliza Doolittle scenario,” he quips, referring to My Fair Lady, “but it was pretty much an Eliza Doolittle scenario.” His wife had fought cancer and won a few years ago, and everything looked rosy for the future when the fateful year 2020 came along. Suddenly, all of the good feelings and the upward trajectory of Sierra’s burgeoning career in Arizona politics came to a sudden halt. “I know I’m not the only person to have that experience in March 2020,” he recalls, “and it sucked for all of us.” In a statement that garnered national attention at the time, Sierra observed of the pandemic, “This enemy has no lands to invade, no ideology to defeat.” In the book’s dramatic high point, that enemy strikes Sierra severely: He tested positive for the virus and soon found himself on a ventilator. He writes about love, heartbreak, national events (like the pandemic and the death of Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg), and even his nerdy love of Star Trek with an unaffected directness and storyteller’s skill. It’s a touchingly human account, and Sierra’s aura of affection somehow even extends to the cutthroat world of politics. The nuanced result reads far more believably than most political memoirs.