Ruttenberg takes a poetic sensibility in this dual narrative of both the life of Joey Ramone (née Jeffrey Ross Hyman) and the birth of punk music itself. Born sick, he grew up to be ungainly, with thick glasses; his Jewish heritage also marked him as an outsider. “Soon enough bullies—UGH! ICK! YUCK! ACHHH!—spotted this thin, clumsy, incredibly tall kid and, with [the] devil’s instinct, smelled difference.” Ramone discovered rock ’n’ roll, yet by the time he was grown, “rock music sounded like it was being made by the parents.” He co-founded the Ramones in 1974, and here the book makes an elegant detour, exploring punk, its origins, and its greater significance. With eloquent wordplay, Ruttenberg gives readers an intimate sense of Joey Ramone’s life and times without ever tipping into fictionalized details or faux dialogue. Even the lack of backmatter (nary a timeline or bibliography in sight) cannot overshadow the frenzied fun on the page. The bold colors and sheer delight of Schreiber’s art make Ramone an appealingly larger-than-life figure, each page vibrating with music and movement. Above all, Ruttenberg underscores the inclusive nature of Ramone’s music; the titular lyrics (from the song “Pinhead”) serve as a rallying cry for outsiders everywhere. Space is left at the end for kids to write their own songs (librarians beware!).

“Today, race and class remain the most reliable predictors of education achievement in America,” writes Viteritti, adding that, 70 years since the Brown v. Board of Education Supreme Court decision, “our public schools continue to be segregated.” A professor of public policy at New York’s Hunter College, the author, whose research has been widely published and cited in Supreme Court decisions, has a long history with both American public schools (serving as a senior adviser to the chancellor of the New York City public school system, among other positions) and working as an advocate for school choice. While promoting his vision for school choice, this book also serves as “an extended acknowledgment and note of gratitude” to the theorists (some of whom he ranks among his close friends) who shaped his ideas on school choice. These include Ron Edmonds (a New York educator known for his advocacy on behalf of Black families), Jack Coons (a prominent lawyer and advocate of choice), Diane Ravitch (a widely published scholar of education history and policy), and Howard Fuller (a Black Power civil rights activist). Viteritti is careful to distinguish himself from the growing conservative choice movement backed by President Donald Trump, which, the author argues, in its narrow support for private and parochial schools, “compounds past injustices.” He is similarly critical of the Democratic Party’s blind defense of public school policies that “sustain failure and confine students of color to underperforming public schools.” Advocating for school choice through the progressive lenses of Edmonds, Coons, Ravitch, Fuller, and a host of grassroots Black activists, Viteritti makes a well-researched case for charter schools that is backed by more than 560 scholarly endnotes. Despite its academic bona fides, this is an accessible work from the perspective of an activist who has long been in the trenches of public education.

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.