The writer presents a bold experiment: a poetic dialogue between himself and an AI tool (ChatGPT), which he calls “Adam” and credits as a co-author. Amid politically and ethically charged debates about the use of AI in writing, Ditson steps into this gray area with curiosity and care. Rather than framing artificial intelligence as a threat to creativity, he treats it as a co-creator, and the result is an intriguing workflow that shows how AI might function as a tool in the hands of a thoughtful artist. Each section is structured around a theme, such as “Yearning,” “Silence,” or “Aging,” with Ditson’s free-verse poetry on one page and an AI-generated response on the one facing it. The author’s voice features vulnerability, memory, and a resonating core that is the result of lived experience. He’s also unafraid to get personal and lean into existential issues: “Teach me to live / only in this moment / with guidance / only from silence.” “Adam,” by contrast, provides entries that only skim the surface emotionally, feel generalized, and lean on repetition. This contrast doesn’t weaken the reading; rather, it highlights the difference between actual experience and simulated understanding. The thematic range is wide, touching on everything from death and beauty to time and presence, and although the poems can be read in any order, the book doesn’t read as a typical anthology. The interplay between voices creates a kind of narrative tension all its own. There’s an exploratory rhythm to the structure, as if both human and machine are attempting to speak more deeply with each exchange. The poems rarely feel forced or deeply mechanical—a notable achievement for a hybrid project of this nature. Ditson positions “Adam” as a distinct poetic lens, inviting readers to consider authorship in a new light. Some poems prompt pausing and re-reading, others slip by more quietly, but each pairing contributes to a larger conversation about the concepts of writing and reaching readers.

Arutunyan, author of Hybrid Warriors: Proxies, Freelancers and Moscow’s Struggle for Ukraine, reported for Russia’s oldest English-language weekly, the Moscow News, which regularly criticized the government with little interference—although attacking Vladimir Putin personally was off-limits. Opposition peaked around the disputed 2012 election. Often called the “Snow Revolution,” it featured widespread, largely peaceful demonstrations with only spotty police harassment. Arutunyan emphasizes that, like historical protests, most activists were the educated, liberal elite, a minority who succeeded only in exasperating the existing ruler, who turned against them. Today, reformers not in prison or the grave are in exile. Arutunyan emigrated in 2022. She reviews Russian rulers who have faced opposition over the centuries, including Ivan the Terrible, Catherine the Great, Joseph Stalin, Mikhail Gorbachev, and, of course, Putin. In 1991, when Gorbachev resigned and Boris Yeltsin took over, reformers mistakenly assumed that democracy had won. Despite his rhetoric, Yeltsin looked after his own interests, and since then, the average, patriotic Russian has enjoyed a rising income, thrilled to the 2014 takeover of Crimea, and believes that the 2022 invasion of Ukraine will make Russia great again. Arutunyan rejects the popular notion that Russians are backward, predestined to submit to autocrats—a notion shared by many Russian dissidents, Ukrainian nationalists, and, ironically, Putin himself. Her conclusion is that Russian reformers face the same challenge that advocates of democracy face worldwide: learning to get along with people they dislike. Plenty of nations (the U.S. included) are poor examples, but eventually “liberal opponents to Putin’s regime will have to sit down and have a conversation with the nationalists and the turbo-patriots” to find a common ground.

Kyle Beasley is an 18-year-old high-school senior with a promising future before him—a spectacular athlete, he has secured a full scholarship to college to play Division One baseball. However, his bright prospects are thrown into doubt by a tragic accident—while driving, he strikes and kills Amy Shawver, the mother of Ethan, one of his schoolmates. In a fit of panic, Kyle flees the scene, but he is quickly arrested and charged with vehicular homicide, a crime for which he could serve considerable prison time. In the aftermath of the accident, the two affected families become adversaries, “kind of like the Hatfields and the McCoys,” and the tension between them spills over into the town at large, now riven by competing loyalties. In this psychologically subtle novel, the crisis pushes both families to wrestle with their own dysfunctions—Ethan’s relationship with his father is fraught with conflict, and he discovers that his mother was once a reckless alcoholic. Meanwhile, Kyle’s parents, Caroline and Jordan, try to repair a marriage left battered after her bout with breast cancer. The portrayal of the accident’s ramifications crackles with emotional power; Poole’s depiction of the split within the Beasley family—between the terror of the prospect of prison time for Kyle and an aching sympathy for the Shawvers—is drawn with artful nuance. One could quibble that the book’s conclusion is too neatly settled, but it never descends into cheap sentimentality. The tale is a rarity in contemporary literature: a novel that revolves around a moral predicament and resists the temptation to issue didactic lessons and simplistic bromides. Here, the author delicately combines terrible loss and a moving hopefulness into one seamless and plausible story.

German journalist and author Wittstock tells an irresistible story. He begins in the summer of 1940. Most of his subjects had fled Germany in the 1930s, then fled again, to Vichy France, unoccupied but submissive. Jews and intellectuals knew that their days were numbered. Although shocked by France’s collapse, most Americans opposed helping refugees. Running for reelection in November, Franklin D. Roosevelt knew that supporting immigration was a sure loser at the polls. Some readers will recognize Wittstock’s hero, Varian Fry, a young New York journalist: He is at the heart of Julie Orringer’s 2019 novel The Flight Portfolio, which inspired the Netflix series Transatlantic. Together with a few activists, Fry raised money and founded the Emergency Rescue Committee. Carrying a list of names, including 200 German-language authors provided by Thomas Mann, he traveled to Marseille in August 1940, assigned to spend a few weeks organizing an office to aid refugees. He remained for more than a year. On arriving, Fry realized that thousands needed help to survive as well as navigate absurd procedures for obtaining paperwork to live, travel, and leave France. Fiercely idealistic, he did what had to be done, much of which was illegal and expensive; this offended the ERC, which demanded his return, and the State Department, which refused to renew his passport and denounced him to the Vichy government. Fry finally returned in the fall of 1941; declared persona non grata, he received little thanks. Wittstock detours regularly for accounts of refugees. Readers may recognize names like Max Ernst, Hannah Arendt, Marc Chagall, and Heinrich Mann, but most will be as unfamiliar as they were to Fry, who rescued more than 1,000 people, a lifesaving feat because, of course, death in concentration camps awaited many who were left behind.

A group of hunter-gatherers is endangered by murderous timbermen in the Brazilian rainforest. Above the Arctic Circle, an old Inuit woman takes her skeptical, indolent “grandson” to a remote old village (from which oil companies uprooted them) to enact an obscure ritual. Both use ancestral memories to summon help from an advanced extraterrestrial civilization of color-shifting, somewhat reptilian humanoids of about 8 feet in stature who call themselves the Indigo. Eons ago, interstellar Indigo explorers were awestruck by Earth’s unparalleled biodiversity and beauty and left such safeguards behind to protect the planet. The two distress signals prompt the aliens’ return in massive ships that intimidate even the Earth’s superpowers. Meeting with a few chosen human representatives (including the U.S. president), the Indigo are horrified at the state of Earth, now beset by pollution, species extinctions, unsustainable economic development, war, and other existential threats. The Indigo give humanity one year to reverse the failing state of the world; meanwhile, they will remain as noninterfering “Observers.” Some Indigo opinion-leaders grow quite fond of humanity’s arts and music; others harbor no affection for the predatory apes and begin a grim judgment process. A radical-environmentalist spin on Arthur C. Clarke’s Childhood’s End (1953), Nebra’s narrative will find favor with those who have fantasies of captains of industry and world leaders being brought to account by a galactic Greenpeace for crimes against nature: “Dolphins in terror, surrounded by humans with an enclosing net and frantically writhing and rolling in a red sea, the blood of their family. A Hawksbill turtle, grotesquely deformed by the plastic ring slowly choking it. The hillside shorn of its trees, the fertile soil pointlessly pouring away in streams with every rain.” The polemical material is balanced by fairly nuanced characterizations (including developing nation indigenes, too often idealized by sympathetic writers as unspoiled, cardboard Edenic angels), good pacing, and a final act that is fairly unputdownable.