Journalist and novelist LeBor, author of Hitler’s Secret Bankers: The Myth of Swiss Neutrality During the Holocaust, writes that losing World War I was no less disastrous for Hungary than for Germany. Formerly a full partner in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, it emerged missing 70% of its former territory. LeBor describes Budapest as almost Parisian in its love of art, food, pleasure, and politics with an enormous cast of characters. He emphasizes that the Hungarian government’s obsession between the wars was to regain lost territories. Since that was also Hitler’s obsession, Nazism exerted a growing and malign influence. The nation remained neutral when Germany invaded Poland in 1939, but, under increasing pressure, joined Germany’s June 1941 invasion of Russia. During this period, the government remained in place. Unlike in Poland, there was no military occupation with the accompanying massive atrocities but plenty of scattered atrocities and antisemitic laws. Barely keeping Germany at arm’s length, Hungary maintained a fairly free press, political parties, trade unions, and cultural life until March 1944 when, with the Red Army drawing near, Germany took control and almost immediately began rounding up Jews. Following Hungary’s clumsy effort to switch sides in October, Germany gave power to its right-wing pro-Nazi party, which quickly began a reign of terror. One historian writes, “Nowhere else in Nazi-occupied Europe were Jews killed in public in such large numbers over such a long period of time.” With access to new documents and diaries, LeBor vividly recounts details of gruesome atrocities. He describes heroic figures who saved thousands of Jews but failed to save hundreds of thousands.

Seventeen-year-old Rioyn Orro dreams of protecting his realm of Seivan. It would entail joining Sansyre University’s Order of Soldiers, but his father, a general who finds his son too impulsive, won’t approve his enrollment. Rioyn plans to join anyway; histwin, Ayva, who thinks of herself as a “nerdy book girl,” is already signed up for the Order of Galilei. As each sibling gears up for their orders’ tournaments, their realm suddenly comes under attack. A sinister brother and sister, wielding dark Ascendances (magical abilities), lead the Starless Army, which consists of soldiers whose “lacquered black eyes” indicate apparent mindlessness. Rioyn and Ayva have their own Ascendances, like many in Seivan, but neither has mastered them yet. To restore peace in their realm, they’ll need to find the Iyanndyre Born, a fabled and enigmatic figure. With their loved ones in peril, the twins trek across a mountain range to reach the towering Iyanndyre monolith. Sostman’s novel throws numerous obstacles in the siblings’ way; their journey to the Iyanndyre structure, for example, is rife with life-threatening dangers. However, the characters also struggle with more relatable troubles, such as Rioyn’s craving for his father’s approval and Ayva’s wish that she was popular, like her brother. However, much of this opening installment is deliberately cryptic about key topics, such as who or what the Iyanndyre Born is and how the mysterious Infinite Void relates to Seivan and “the Outer Realms.” The alternating narrative perspectives, primarily the twins’, provide useful insight. Unfortunately, they also reveal Rioyn as a selfish and largely incompetent character; he’s essentially a detriment to the mission, especially compared to the siblings’ traveling companion (and Rioyn’s embittered ex) Falla Kai. An effervescent secondary cast includes villains with startling, well-developed origin stories, as well as Jax Risor, Ayva’s love interest and Rioyn’s best friend. The final act answers a lingering question while also deepening other mysteries.

As a youngster, writes Specktor, actors and filmmakers were a common happy-hour sight around his home, thanks to a father who worked as an agent for “an insurgent company called Creative Arts Agency.” One memorable visitor was David Lynch, then at the beginning of his career, who sized young Specktor up and pronounced him an artist. Specktor may not have made his mark in the art world, but he certainly can write: This memoir is a sterling account of how Hollywood, the company town, works and of the strange people who inhabit a world very different from ordinary reality. It’s a place of glittering wealth and beautiful people, but also a place where beastly behavior is the norm and the ideal. “What is it about the culture that creates such furious and pointlessly cruel people? Is it…the fact that trafficking in illusion makes you begin to expect the impossible even in real life?” Good questions. In the case of Specktor senior, celebrated at the time of this book’s appearance as the oldest agent still working in the business, the education was at the hands of the irascible, deeply nasty Lew Wasserman, brilliant at structuring business-enriching deals and “not just the star but the stage itself, invisible to the inattentive eye”—and a terrifying boss. Jack Warner was just as scary, but his old-fashioned empire was toppled by younger upstarts like Jack Nicholson and Warren Beatty—to say nothing of aggressive new-school agents like Michael Ovitz, who himself would be toppled by “a businessman even colder and more ruthless than he is, Michael Eisner.” Literate and liberal with huge scoops of dish, Specktor’s memoir is a sometimes shocking pleasure from start to finish.

Two families stand at the center of Millet’s lovely, keening tales: Buzz, Amy, and their children Liza and Nick; and single mother Helen with daughters Mia and Shelley. They are well-educated, middle-class, liberal Americans, appalled by the state of their country and, in the case of the parents, bemused by their children. The younger generation “seemed to be void of ideology. Beyond naming and shaming each other for perceived identity bias,” comments Trudy, another character who turns up in several stories. This isn’t entirely true of Liza, who impulsively married a “DACA kid,” Luis, while still in high school, or Nick, a Stanford grad enraged by Americans’ complacency in the face of the “five-alarm emergency” of climate catastrophe and impending global extinction. “What we need,” he tells his therapist, “is a worldwide revolution. Yesterday.” Nonetheless, he’s stocking shelves in a big-box store and bartending in a gay bar, and his attitude of “what can I do?” is shared by most of Millet’s wonderfully human, believably flawed characters. A few creeps turn up—there’s one in “Pastoralist,” about a man who preys on vulnerable women, and another in “Cultist,” where Shelley’s smug boyfriend, Jake, spouts “pieces of pat received wisdom from business school” to her amused mother and the horrified Nick, who has become Mia’s boyfriend over the course of the stories. But generally, the author is gentle with confused, well-meaning people immobilized by the scope of the apocalypse they see looming. As she did in such novels as Dinosaurs (2022) and A Children’s Bible (2020), Millet blends a blunt assessment of our refusal to deal with the ecological catastrophes we have created and a tender portrait of human beings with all their foibles.

Uthaug’s first novel to be published in English imagines a time several centuries in the future when 11% of men—enough to keep the genetic pool sufficiently varied—are allowed to survive infancy, only to be kept captive and heavily medicated. Definitely not for the squeamish, the novel follows four women who have trouble dealing with the system in which they have been raised. Medea and Silence are witches who live in a convent with an elderly “sister” and a nameless 7-year-old boy they have raised in secret. Wicca—Medea’s lover and a priest in the now-matriarchal Christian church, in which cobras play a critical role—worries that she won’t satisfy the mothers who have raised her to follow in their footsteps as priests. And Eva is a doctor with a potentially damning secret she’s held since childhood. Though it’s not clear whether the rest of the world has also been transformed, or just Denmark and its Scandinavian neighbors, Uthaug builds her brave new world with care and confidence, gradually revealing a civilization in which all new buildings must be round or ovoid, testosterone is viewed as poison, “manladies” with silicone penises service customers in the dodgier parts of Copenhagen, and self-designated Amazons are assigned to teach the captive males their varied sexual “jobs.” Uthaug’s worldbuilding is more convincing than her plot-making, which tends to long, repetitive flashbacks and little forward momentum, and her frequent, colorful descriptions of the use of bodily effluvia of all sorts to make cakes and other delicacies may leave readers without an appetite. She certainly can’t be faulted for subtlety.