As the story opens, it’s 1941, and the residents of Soviet-occupied Lithuania are receiving news that the German army is going to invade. University student Leva Koslowski and her younger brother, Al, decide to flee the country, because although Soviet control had been horrible, the Germans are rumored to be much worse. The pair head to Sweden, but Leva’s boyfriend, Olek, stays behind in Lithuania. So do Leva’s parents, Zeneta and Matis, who have a cabin in the woods in Ponary where they allow Olek to stay. Soon, Zeneta and Matis attempt to leave, as well, but are caught and arrested by Soviet border guards. Before long, the Germans begin mass executions in the woods. Olek manages to help an injured Jewish boy in hiding, and it’s not long before Olek himself is in trouble. Al makes it to the United States and joins the war effort as quickly as he can; soon, he’s back in Europe with Allied forces. Meanwhile, Zeneta is struggling for her life, along with other Lithuanians whom the Soviets have shipped to Siberia. Toyn’s narrative is based on true events—most notably, the horrors of the Ponary Massacre—and it’s at its strongest when describing, without embellishment, unthinkable events. For instance, as German power waned, prisoners were forced to dig up and systematically burn corpses to cover up the fact that there were mass graves in the Ponary forest. This included the placement of thermite grenades to ensure that the fire “burned hot enough to incinerate the bodies”; the resulting blazes would then burn “for three days or until a heap of ashes remained.” The dialogue isn’t always as sharp, as characters sometimes unnecessarily narrate their actions with statements such as “I have a gift for each of you.” Overall, though, the work succeeds in its author’s aim to shed light on “events largely unknown to Western audiences.”

On September 13, 2022, Iran’s morality police arrested 22-year-old Mahsa Jina Amini for having too much hair protruding from her hijab (“Members of the Gasht-e Ershad then grabbed Amini and began forcing her into their van”). Three days later, she was dead in Kasra Hospital, another victim of the country’s re-education centers. Photos of Amini in the hospital showed severe trauma to her face and head, and the images quickly went viral on Instagram and other platforms. At her funeral, her mother rejected claims that her daughter had violated the law. Women ripped off their headscarves in defiance, and mourners’ wails turned into chants against the regime. Despite strict internet controls, videos circulated worldwide, and Iranians of different ethnicities, faiths, and political leanings rallied together, mounting one of the boldest challenges to theocracy in decades. Harounoff, the international spokesperson for Israel at the UN, places Amini’s death in the larger context of Iran’s authoritarian rule, showing how decades of consolidated power and violent oppression now collide with the reach of social media. Acts of defiance through sports, music, and art, though often punished, are now far more visible both in and outside Iran. Not content to just provide the timeline of the Women, Life, Freedom movement, the author examines this and similar efforts to show how even a unified front can falter without a unified message. A highly accessible resource, the work doubles as a crash course in modern Iranian history while elevating the voices of experts and exiles. The writing avoids sensationalism and treats its subjects with care, acknowledging that many never sought to be martyrs even as their deaths became flashpoints. The absence of photographs is notable, given the role images play in online spaces. The text effectively shows that social media amplified dissent, but offers little sense of how Iranian online communities actually interact, only hinting at factionalism among exiles. Without these details, this portrait of protest feels unfinished, though no less powerful.

Eager to cultivate his image, Johannes Brahms destroyed much of his early work before it could get out into the world. The composer felt the same about his correspondence. “A person has to be careful about writing letters,” he told a friend. “One day they get printed!” The man had a point. This enjoyable collection—part of a Letters for the Ages series—assembles missives from musicians that date as far back as the sixth century. Brahms would be happy to learn that none of his writing is in the book. Among the entries, however, is an 1878 letter addressed to him; it’s by Clara Schumann, the fellow composer who had great affection for her friend (the feeling was reciprocal, although the relationship probably remained platonic). The letter is illuminating because it shows how much Schumann advised Brahms on his scores, with detailed (and gentle) suggestions: “In the C major piece I wish you would use the charming opening phrase again at the repeat, it would not be difficult, would it?” Schumann’s husband, Robert, is also in the anthology. In an 1830 letter to his mother, the future composer expresses his reluctance to pursue a legal career: “My life has been for twenty years one long struggle between poetry and prose, or, let us say, music and law.” Seems he made the right choice. Dozens of other musicians are included; the range is broad, if focused on Western artists. We hear from Giuseppe Verdi, Woody Guthrie, John Coltrane, Leonard Bernstein, Amy Winehouse, and Nick Cave. In a foreword, David Pickard writes that “despite their genius, great artists are real people”—even, apparently, when addressing royalty. “My glorious and dearly beloved King,” Richard Wagner gushes in a letter to Ludwig II of Bavaria. In his short communication, the composer proceeds, like any modern-day fanboy, to use no fewer than 11 exclamation marks.

In the near future, Daniel Bennett is the developer of an AI system called Castor, and he’s the creative force behind startup Promethean Systems. He creates Castor to recognize patterns in medical data, and it has the potential to save patients and insurers hundreds of millions of dollars and prevent needless deaths. For Daniel, the future looks bright, and with his wife, Ana, who’s a successful consultant, and his teenage stepdaughter, Natasha, by his side, life was good. But when Castor starts guiding its own development and Promethean founding partner Robert Hayes suddenly dies of cardiac arrest, the future of the company becomes uncertain. When Regillus Global offers to buy the firm out and expand it into different markets, it seems like a saving grace. However, as Daniel adapts to the new company structure and direction, he soon finds himself troubled that Promethean’s original vision has been sidetracked. Then irregularities occur in Castor’s systems, indicating that something is very wrong; soon, the situation results in lives being lost in the name of corporate success. Spears’ speculative novel features a large cast of characters and sector-specific jargon (“When utilizing Shor’s Algorithm on the quantum chip, the encryption key’s period happened to match the number of physical qubits available to me,” notes Jimini, an AI built from Castor’s code, at one point), but readers will be carried along by the action-packed, suspenseful narrative. It’s a disturbingly realistic thriller, as well; as Daniel’s work demands increase, and he pours even more of himself into his work, his family life begins to suffer, and as he uncovers a web of power, deception, and greed, he must find a way to control the seemingly uncontrollable. The author has also clearly drawn on his professional experience as a software engineer to craft the story’s finer technical details, adding to its complexity and feeling of authenticity.

Now in his late-30s, author Anglade notes in the book’s opening lines that he “had a relatively good life, despite being born in one of the poorest countries in the world.” As recounted in the memoir’s harrowing opening chapters, the author’s childhood home was broken into twice by armed burglars during the night, prompting his family to frequently sleep at their church to avoid zenglendos (armed criminals). While he deeply valued Haiti’s rich culture, even having competitions with his friends to see who could read Haitian novels the fastest, he also had family members whom he visited in the United States, where he developed an affinity for the U.S., especially its cartoons and Wendy’s spicy chicken nuggets. Ultimately, he migrated to the U.S., devoting his efforts to education and eventually receiving a Ph.D. in applied economics from the University of Florida. Apart from academic research, Anglade spent much of his postgraduate life engaging with Haitian politics, public policy, and economic development. The memoir certainly offers an inspirational story of overcoming obstacles to obtain one’s dreams, but what makes this work stand out is Anglade’s grasp of Haitian history; he interweaves his personal story into the larger narrative of the Caribbean nation. For example, the zenglendos that terrorized his family, he convincingly writes, weren’t just random criminals or a “local menace,” but were intricately tied to the political and economic instability that followed the overthrow of President Jean-Bertrand Aristide in 1991. He similarly connects his immigration story to the wider history of the African diaspora. The book also includes ample commentary on contemporary Haitian politics and the effects of climate change on the country. While this political analysis lacks formal citations, Anglade has a learned understanding of the various forces at play in 21st-century Haiti and is particularly critical of the nation’s bureaucrats for “riding in bullet proof cars and drawing comfortable salaries” amid rising crime rates and economic decline.