Matthew Jackson

For half a century, while he built a reputation as one of the great novelists of his generation with works like Marjorie Morningstar and The Winds of War, Herman Wouk chased what he called “the impossible novel”—a story based on the life of Moses. He never found the key to making the book work. Until now.

The Lawgiver is in many ways a culmination for Wouk. Delivered near the end of his life (he is 97), it recalls the spirit of his earlier work, and realizes a dream that he held close for his entire literary career. The result is a surprising, refreshing and dynamic novel that explores the story of Moses through the lives of the people trying to tell it.

When an Australian billionaire sets out to finance a new big-screen epic telling the story of Moses, he approaches Wouk (a character in his own novel) to put his stamp of approval on any screenplay the effort produces. Wouk and his wife of more than six decades, Betty Sarah, find themselves embroiled in an often chaotic Hollywood production that includes demanding producers, mercurial actors, forceful financiers and a young director fighting to prove herself.

The entire tale is told in the form of dialogues and monologues. Emails, memos, transcripts of phone conferences and Skype meetings are included in every chapter, creating an immediacy and sense of voyeurism that makes every page crackle. Within the story, as each character mulls the life of Moses, we find the elements of an Old Testament epic—romance, deception, power versus determination—all wrapped up in a modern journey into the heart of Hollywood. It’s an intriguing and ultimately enchanting juxtaposition. Wouk wrings meaning and emotion from the cynicism of the movie industry, and reveals yet again that he is still capable of astounding feats of storytelling.

Few modern writers have shown such savage skill for crafting grotesque tales of excess as Martin Amis. Even fewer writers have managed to take such tales and turn them into something truly insightful. Amis has proven time and time again that he stands alone at the pinnacle of this kind of writing, and Lionel Asbo: State of England is further confirmation of his gifts.

Desmond Pepperdine is a teenager with dreams of being a writer whose life is dominated by his uncle and guardian, Lionel Asbo, an amoral powerhouse who feeds Tabasco to his dogs and gives Des helpful advice like “always carry a knife.” Desmond’s family has never really been cohesive, but things get even stranger when he begins a sexual relationship with his very young grandmother. As Des juggles his guilt and confusion with the secret he must keep from his violent uncle, everything changes when Lionel wins the lottery.

Suddenly ex-con Lionel is the juiciest thing the British press has encountered in ages. As he finds new ways to spend his cash, hires a publicist and takes up with a nude model, Lionel grows in the public eye, and Desmond is caught in the middle.

What’s most remarkable about Lionel Asbo is how real it feels despite the absurdities of the plot. Amis roots his tale in flawed, simple people and their flawed, simple desires, driving the story with his characteristically vivid prose. The result is something that works both as a comic tale of human indulgence and a frightening, precise bolt aimed at celebrity culture and class distinction.

Lionel Asbo is Amis at his best: a short, sweet, biting work of raw energy and surprising power. Amis fans will love it, and first-timers will find a compelling new voice to follow.

John Boyne has a gift for crafting historical tales that hold all the richness and scope of a period while still maintaining a sense of intimacy. The Absolutist might be his most intimate story yet—a journey inside the mind of a man who’s seen the horror of war, and the tale of his quest to somehow find peace in the lonely aftermath.

In the fall of 1919, World War I veteran Tristan Sadler travels from London to Norwich to deliver a package of letters to the sister of Will Bancroft, a soldier Tristan met while training for the war in 1916. Tristan bears the scars of war on his body, but the real reason for his journey is the scars on his heart. The world knows only that Tristan and Will were friends, and how Will officially met his end. But the truth is that Tristan and Will were something more, and what really happened to Will is a secret that cuts Tristan deeper than any war wound.

Many volumes of historical fiction swell to massive length thanks to the author’s penchant for period details and historical info-dumps. Amid other works of its genre, The Absolutist is surprisingly slim. Boyne conveys the period accurately and elegantly, but the characters—specifically Tristan, who narrates—are the stars. This isn’t a novel about WWI; it’s a novel about the unique horror of one man’s experience, and Boyne makes every word count.

By the end, when Tristan’s secrets are revealed, you realize you’ve just encountered something rare in a war novel: a unique vision of the scarred, reluctant warrior trope. You might think you recognize Tristan’s type, but as Boyne unfolds his tale he ensures that you don’t. This is a different kind of journey into the darkness of war, told by a gifted, powerful novelist, and the result is a book with an often staggering emotional punch.