Phryne Fisher fans will fall in love with Kiki Button, the gossip columnist and sleuth of Autumn Leaves, 1922 by Tessa Lunney. While this historical mystery can easily be read as a standalone, odds are readers will immediately seek out Kiki’s first adventure, April in Paris, 1921, after being enchanted by Lunney’s charismatic heroine.

Kiki has returned to her beloved Paris after a year spent sorting through her late mother’s estate in Australia. Kiki is struggling under the weight of her grief, both for the mother she never really understood and for a world that’s still recovering from the traumas of World War I. As a wartime nurse and spy, Kiki personally witnessed indescribable suffering, and those images have stayed with her.

She’s looking forward to returning to her glamorous life, reporting on parties and society scandals, but she finds herself pulled back into the world of espionage by her former handler, Fox. Fox holds evidence that could clear Kiki’s childhood friend and current lover from charges of desertion and treason, and he uses this to force Kiki back into his shadowy world. Using her society connections, Kiki must diffuse a scandal related to the growing fascist movement in Europe, which could implicate the Prince of Wales.

As engaging and suspenseful as Kiki’s mission is, Lunney makes the mystery of the mother Kiki barely knew equally fascinating. As she reads her late mother’s diaries, Kiki realizes that the woman who always seemed cold and distant was actually living a secret life not unlike Kiki’s own.

Kiki rubs shoulders with artists, deposed Russian princes and expats like Ernest Hemingway, all while keeping a bevy of lovers on standby. Seemingly living on a diet consisting solely of cigarettes and champagne, she navigates high society, the bohemian art scene and the Paris underworld with ease. Lunney’s prose is beautifully atmospheric, capturing a collective sense of postwar trauma but also hope as Europe enters a new age.

Set amid the incarceration and subsequent displacement of Japanese Americans during World War II, Clark and Division is as much about communal trauma as it is about the anguish of the Ito family, who are at the story’s center. The grief of the Japanese community in Chicago infuses the atmosphere of this novel, offering a compelling, nuanced tale of loss.

Aki Ito and her family have been in a Japanese incarceration camp in California since shortly after Pearl Harbor was bombed. When the Itos are forced to resettle in Chicago in 1944, Aki’s outgoing, dynamic sister, Rose, is sent to the city a few months before the rest of the family arrives. The unfailingly resilient Rose has endured incarceration with the least visible distress, so Aki is shocked when they arrive in Chicago and find that Rose took her own life two days prior. 

Aki refuses to believe her sister would kill herself, and in between a bleak job search and caring for her now frail parents, she seeks out answers about her sister’s death. Amateur sleuth Aki must navigate her insular community, which is insulated for depressingly good reasons, as well as overt racism from the wider world as she learns that some people would prefer she let the matter rest. 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: How Naomi Hirahara used a crime novel to "cut through to the truth."

Edgar Award-winning author Naomi Hirahara explores trauma on multiple scales in this mystery. On a micro level, Aki struggles to accept the loss of her vibrant sister and watches her father, once a successful businessman, decline into alcoholism. Her family’s home and business back in California have been stolen from them, forcing her parents, deeply proud immigrants, to take whatever jobs they can find. 

On a macro level, everyone in the predominantly Japanese American neighborhood of Clark and Division (named for two nearby streets) is struggling to find their place in a world where they are unfairly seen as the enemy. Some members of the community enlist in the military in order to prove their loyalty to the United States, some turn to crime to earn a living and some are so boxed in by deeply racist socioeconomic structures that they give up entirely.

Yet for Aki, hope is still present, if tarnished. Her journey to make peace with Rose’s death is also a journey to reconcile herself to her new life, while still refusing to forget Rose or their family’s history.

With The 7½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle, British writer Stuart Turton kept readers guessing Agatha Christie-style as they investigated a mystery with a time- and body-hopping detective named Aiden Bishop. In The Devil and the Dark Water, Turton presents readers with another cat-and-mouse game, but a vastly different setting: A galleon that sets sail from the Dutch East Indies in 1634, bound for Amsterdam.

The Devil and the Dark Water artfully combines intriguing characters, fascinating historical details and a seafaring labyrinth of twists and turns—not to mention a demon named Old Tom. There is never a dull moment in this 480-page whodunit, but readers will be thankful not to be physically aboard for the grueling journey. As passengers arrive, a leper suddenly shouts that the voyage is doomed, and then burns to death. What more could possibly go wrong? As the ship’s constable notes, the “crew is comprised of malcontents, murderers, and thieves to a man.”

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: How Stuart Turton learned to banish demons on the Internet.

One passenger may be able to get the bottom of the strange curse and ensuing foreboding events—and deaths—that follow. Unfortunately, detective Samuel Pipps is locked in the brig without knowing what crime he is accused of, leaving his loyal bodyguard, Arent Hayes, to investigate. A trio of women (the captain’s wife, daughter and mistress) are also sleuthing, adding a refreshingly feminine twist to this Sherlock Holmes-styled mystery. Turton’s characterizations dovetail nicely with his careful, clever plotting. Meanwhile, he uses history to his advantage, adding dollops of commentary on women’s rights, class privilege and capitalism that lend the novel a contemporary vibe.

As talk of Old Tom’s powers ramp up, passengers wonder whether the ship’s misfortunes may be supernatural, and which unfortunate soul will be Tom’s next target. Steadfast Hayes remains convinced that “There were only people and the stories they told themselves.” With no end of stories aboard this ill-fated galleon, and even a touch of romance, possibilities abound. Meanwhile, a ghost ship lurks in the distance, and a huge storm wreaks havoc.

History and mystery lovers alike will delight in the heart-racing escapades of The Devil and the Dark Water.

Lindsey Davis’ eighth Flavia Albia novel, Grove of the Caesars, finds modern resonance in ancient Rome.

With her husband away tending to a family emergency, Albia has her hands full just dealing with her household, perennially under renovation and thus a big draw for unscrupulous contractors. The discovery of a clutch of ancient scrolls leads to a search for their provenance, in the hope that they’ll fetch a good price at auction. This domestic fuss and bother is upended when a body is found in the sacred grove of Julius Caesar, and workmen reveal that it is not the first. To bring a serial killer to justice, Albia must work alongside Julius Karus, an arrogant member of the Vigiles (the firefighters and police of ancient Rome) who appears content to accept easy answers wherever he finds them.

There is so much to unpack in this story, which balances a truly grim series of crimes with several funny subplots, often intermingling them in surprising ways. Two young enslaved boys gifted to Albia’s household witness the killing and disappear; what starts as an odd bit of comic relief ends in a mix of tragedy and tenderness. Albia herself continues to be a treasure, grateful for her place in society because it was not always such, but willing to disobey nearly any order if her curiosity is piqued.

Davis fills her stories with meticulous research, and the details make for such rich reading, we would likely follow Albia on a day of errands and light entertainment with no crime to speak of. But it’s thrilling to watch her follow a line of inquiry and connect the dots that others fail to see, so we can be glad that she rarely fails to find trouble and charge headlong toward it.

If The Cabinets of Barnaby Mayne doesn’t grab you with the title alone, are you sure you’re a mystery fan?

Cecily Kay has come to the London home of the titular collector, hoping to definitively identify some plants by comparing them to specimens in Barnaby Mayne’s Plant Room, by far the least exciting of his voluminous collections. When Mayne is stabbed to death and a meek man confesses, Cecily smells a rat and uses her analytical abilities to piece together the truth. To find out what really happened, she must dive into the realm of collectors, whose interests often spill over into obsession.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Elsa Hart explains why the world of Englightenment-era collectors is the perfect setting for a mystery.

This is a note-perfect whodunit, and even if Mayne went about his business unmolested it would still be a deliciously creepy novel. Author Elsa Hart (Jade Dragon Mountain) has great fun with the time period—it’s set in 1703—and the complications of science and fact running headlong into mythology and occult beliefs. For a passionate collector, having their life’s work housed in an established and esteemed collection after death conferred a kind of immortality. But some collectors sought a quicker path to power through rituals and rites. High society and the secret societies within make a terrific backdrop for a story that often hinges on the ways women are presumed unimportant, thus allowing them to explore and find evidence while going undetected.

A body falls from the Tarpeian Rock, a looming structure that overlooks the ancient Roman Forum. People assume it’s a suicide, but a woman insists she saw someone push the vitcim. When an investigation is called for, Flavia Alba is ready to help. A Capitol Death is a traditional whodunit set in ancient times, but it feels remarkably fresh.

Author Lindsey Davis (Pandora’s Boy) balances grit and frivolity with ease. Flavia feels like the love child of Philip Marlowe and Carrie Bradshaw—she’s on the case, observing and reporting with care, but keeps a running line of saucy commentary on everyone throughout. This death would hardly raise a fuss were it not for the Imperial Triumphs, a sort of war parade/street fair hybrid set to take place. The dead man organized the entire affair and made plenty of enemies in the process, on top of being widely disliked in general. Flavia researches the case and then comes home to the drama of her home, still under construction, with ever-changing staff and their own drama. Stolen moments with her husband, and their snappy repartee, are sweet side trips.

Her childhood as a British orphan gives Flavia an acute awareness of class and difference. She can gently mold herself to fit in almost any situation and draw people into her confidence. The story builds with numerous twists toward a thrilling conclusion, but much of the pleasure comes from the deep, realistic world Davis has created and the people who inhabit it.

World War II and its immediate aftermath compose a well-trod territory for fiction, especially the British homefront. But I’ve never read a book that breathes life into the era quite like The Right Sort of Man, Allison Montclair’s sprightly new historical mystery.

It’s 1946. Rationing is still in effect, and the catastrophic damage of the Blitz still pockmarks the city’s surface, but London is shakily getting back to business as usual. For Iris Sparks and Gwendolyn Bainbridge, the end of the war has left them both somewhat adrift. And so they both leap almost gratefully into action when a client of their matchmaking agency, the Right Sort Marriage Bureau, is accused of murder. Dickie Trower has been arrested for the killing of Tillie La Salle, a canny shop girl with whom the Right Sort had arranged for him to go on a date.

Elegant war widow Gwendolyn leads the investigative charge, at least initially. And while her fledgling attempts to understand the London transportation system without the aid of a chauffeur are endearing to the extreme, Montclair adds in twists of melancholy given Gwen’s still very fresh grief over her beloved husband Ronnie’s death. To make matters even worse, Gwen had a nervous collapse upon receiving the tragic news, was sent to a sanitarium for four months and subsequently lost custody of her and Ronnie’s child to his aloof, snobbish parents.

Montclair balances Gwen’s pursuit of both independence and the murderer with her partner Iris’ own struggle to adjust to peacetime. The Right Sort of Man’s rat-a-tat dialogue is never better than when Iris is eviscerating the latest unfortunate to stand in her way, or when she’s finagling her way into a new line of inquiry like a scrappy British cousin of Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday. And as with Gwen, Montclair slowly reveals the profound sadness that lies beneath Iris’ wry and witty exterior. “I can’t answer that” is her constant refrain when asked about what exactly she got up to during the war; it’s a running joke that becomes an increasingly sad motif, reminding the reader that the freedom and excitement of Iris’ classified activities on behalf of king and country have faded away.

But Iris can still use her less-than-savory skills and reach out to some of her shadowy war buddies to solve the case. As she and Gwen delve into the lower-class world of La Salle, who may or may not have been involved in a black market scheme with a very charming gangster, Montclair mines fantastic comedy from both Iris’ ever-increasing portfolio of underhanded skills and the very genteel Gwen’s interactions with Iris’ motley former comrades.

Brimming with wit and joie de vivre but sneakily poignant under its whimsical surface, The Right Sort of Man is an utter delight and a fantastic kickoff to a new series.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Allison Montclair shares why postwar London was the perfect setting for her new series.

Philip Kerr has left the literary world a parting gift that will not only resonate with longtime readers but should indoctrinate a new legion of fans to his Bernie Gunther detective series. Metropolis, the final novel Kerr wrote before his untimely death a year ago after a brief bout with cancer, takes readers back to Gunther’s origins.

Set between the world wars in 1928 Berlin, Germany, Gunther is just in his 20s when he is promoted from the ranks to the role of detective on the police department’s Murder Commission, or “murder wagon” as it is more colloquially known. As his commanding officer says, “Welcome to the Murder Commission, Gunther. The rest of your life just changed forever.”

The department is baffled over a series of slayings involving prostitutes in which the killer clubs the victims over the head with a ball hammer and then proceeds to scalp them with a very sharp knife. But just as Gunther begins his investigation, another series of slayings unfolds, this one involving disabled war veterans who are mercilessly gunned down and left for dead.

Sensing the crimes may have been perpetrated by the same individual—one crime to cover up the other by eliminating potential witnesses—Gunther, with the help of film makeup artist Brigette Mobling, dons a disguise as a wounded veteran himself to go deep undercover. With his superior officer the only other person in on the plan, Gunther is left to fend for himself in a city of prostitutes, drug dealers, street gangs, political activists and mobsters, not to mention a deranged serial killer.

Kerr treats his readers to a stark, unflinching look at life in Germany for many citizens still reeling from the effects of the prior war, crushing poverty and growing anti-Semitic bigotry in the years prior to Hitler’s ascension. His writing is crisp, highly detailed and beautifully rendered, immersing the reader as much in the adventure as Gunther immerses himself in his disguise.

Metropolis is an unforgettable tribute to both Kerr’s greatest detective and to the remarkable storyteller Kerr was.